


Disaster: Delivered

by Saasan



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Agoraphobia, Fluff, Gay Disaster Shiro (Voltron), Getting Together, Humor, Keef loves him very much, Keith is a Tease (Voltron), M/M, Matt Holt & Shiro Friendship, Panic Attacks, Power Bottom Keith (Voltron), Sharing a Bed, Shiro (Voltron) is a Mess, Smut, Some angst, Top Shiro (Voltron), and there was only one bed, but also Gay Panic, confident keith, look at that it's the big four, that's a tag lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:54:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22457557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saasan/pseuds/Saasan
Summary: Shiro is a mess.  Constantly.  The one good thing he has going for him is his best friend Matt, and when Matt insists he actually eat sometimes--and more importantly, try out his new food delivery app--Shiro agrees.  Food is pretty harmless, right?  Not when it's delivered by the world's hottest twink, it's not.  Regular Disaster Shiro, move aside: the Gay Disaster is back in town.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 105
Kudos: 525





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> CW for a panic attack and for mentions of other panic attacks.

“I’m not saying you’re lying,” Matt said casually, “I just don’t believe you.”

Shiro shifted the phone to his other shoulder and frowned at his sink. He was  _ pretty  _ sure some of the dishes were from today, which meant he  _ had  _ eaten, thanks very much. However, considering the best defense he could give was to take a picture of his sink and argue that the stuff on top looked relatively fresh, he knew he’d lost the battle.

“Fine. I  _ might  _ not have eaten today,” Shiro said. “But I might have.” There’s a chance.

“Point conceded, but you’re still gonna have to do better than that, Shiro,” Matt said. “Use my app. Please? You said you’d help test it.”

Matt’s most recent baby was an app called Grub-a-Dub-Dub. It was an Uber Eats knockoff intended only for local restaurants complete with app-specific coupons and discounts, and it was staffed only by student drivers from the university Matt was enrolled at. He was 25 and working dual grad degrees in robotic engineering and biotechnology, and Shiro had no idea how he still had time to tinker on side projects (and babysit Shiro pretty much 24/7). 

“Fine, fine, I’ll order something,” Shiro grumbled. He probably  _ should  _ eat, even if it meant interacting with the delivery person.

“And provide app feedback, please and thank you,” Matt said. 

“Yes, sir,” Shiro said, rolling his eyes. He contemplated moving some dishes from his sink to his dishwasher before remembering that would require emptying said dishwasher. 

No.

“Atta boy,” Matt said. “I’ve gotta go supervise a lab now, but text me later, yeah? Tell me how it goes.”

“Will do,” Shiro promised. 

The phone call finished, Shiro dutifully pulled up the app, grimaced at the overly cheerful font, and began to browse menus.

Nothing looked appealing.

Granted, nothing looked unappealing either, and that was kinda the thing about depression--everything was flat. Whatever. He could manage selecting a Chinese dish or two at random, add in some rice, and goddamnit, he should have set up his profile first. 

Unreasonably annoyed at the minor setback, Shiro seriously considered chucking his phone in a corner of his living room and lying on his couch until he was absorbed into the fabric and became one with the furniture. Thoughts of Matt (rightfully) pouting at him prompted him into action, and he once again selected Chinese, tapped in a few items, placed his order, and paid.

There. Never let it be said Takashi Shirogane never did anything for his friends.

Shiro turned on his TV and waited for the doorbell to ring, zoning out to the laugh track of some painful 80s sitcom. Who even invented the laugh track? It never made anything seem more funny. 

A sharp rap at the door pulled him from his thoughts. He sat up, heaved himself off the couch with a grunt, and shuffled to answer it. 

“Hey,” he said as he pulled the door open, scratching at his stomach.

The most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen looked up at him, locking him in place. Before him stood the hottest twink (twunk?) he’d ever seen and a swoop of butterflies flipped through his stomach and knocked his heart over on the way out of his chest. His jaw hung open, and an answering smirk formed in the corner of a plush pair of lips. 

“Hey yourself,” a rough voice said.

“Hey,” Shiro repeated weakly. Was he dizzy or was the floor moving? 

The devastating creature ran his hand lightly through his hair, sweeping back a mess of black bangs that stubbornly returned to his face the second he was done. Shiro stared at the movement, transfixed. Since when was  _ hair  _ that sexy? It looked soft and delicate as it flowed artfully down the young man’s head, settling nicely on his shoulders. 

It would look perfect on his pillow.

“You uh,” the young man said, shifting his weight as he gave Shiro a quick look up and down, “you ordered some food, right?”

Shiro nodded dumbly. That sounded like something he might have done. 

The beautiful eyes glowed with soft amusement--causing a fresh flock of butterflies to beat against Shiro’s ribcage--and the man held out a heavy-laden plastic bag. “This is for you.”

Silently, Shiro took the bag, stepped carefully backwards into his apartment, and shut the door.

What.

The.

FUCK.

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck. Had that actually happened? Had that been a literal human being that he had met and seen and breathed around?! He was holding an armful of fresh Chinese food, which was pretty solid evidence in the Reality column, but on the other hand, holy SHIT that guy was sin incarnate. His legs, his waist, his fucking eyelashes. Devastating. Just, devastating.

Shiro stumbled back from his entryway to his kitchen and placed the bag of Chinese down. He braced himself against the counter and laughed. Jesus H. Christ, how old was he? 12? Seeing a pretty face and absolutely losing his shit. Wow. Well, he hadn’t been called a disaster gay in high school (and college) for nothing.

Shiro went to wash his face in the bathroom and pull himself together. The mirror made him grimace. Scarred up nose, prosthetic arm, and limp and greasy hair. He probably reeked. Topping it off, he was fashionably dressed in ratty, stained sweats and a long-sleeved shirt with a fair-sized hole in one seam.

Yup. That was him: hot as fuck.

Shiro grimaced again. So. This was how he opened doors these days. He was pretty sure no one dressed  _ up  _ for deliveries, but there had to be base standards, and--

Oh.

Oh shit.

He hadn't tipped the delivery guy!

Shiro rushed to the entryway, put his hand on the door knob, realized he didn't have his wallet, and tore to his bedroom to locate his most recently worn pair of pants. It took him far too long to find and fish out his wallet, but at last he cried in triumph, pulled out an uncounted quantity of cash, raced back to his door, and yanked it open.

The hallway was empty.

Well, no surprise there--he wouldn't have waited five minutes for a (potential) tip from a crazy man, either.

Shiro berated himself as he shut the door, even as he felt a rush of relief over not seeing the gorgeous twink again, with his mouth-watering legs and stupidly tiny waist.

(Fuck. Okay, relief  _ and  _ disappointment.)

Shiro ran his hands over his face. Jesus. He was a mess.

He picked up his bag of Chinese, gave the food an undeserved glare, and trudged back to his couch. Sulkily chewing on an egg roll, he picked up his phone and messaged Matt.

**Shiro: Add a tip feature.**

(There. App used; feedback given.)

**Matt: good call, will do**

**now EAT**

Shiro snorted, tossed his phone aside, and sank back into his sitcom, more than ready to tune out the world again.

  
  


~*~*~

  
  


Shiro was never going to use the app again.

Seriously.

Only, that would mean explaining to Matt that he'd lost his damn mind because a pretty boy smiled at him and he was too scared to confront said boy again because he hadn't done the normal human thing and tipped the poor guy, and goddammit but Shiro still had a  _ little  _ pride left, which meant that, two days later, he used the app again. 

(Because having pride meant not telling your friends you're a fucking moron, that's why.)

Maybe he was getting himself too worked up about this. And who knows? Maybe Shiro's inner disaster gay was only so bad because he was a hermit and wasn't used to seeing hot guys in person. Maybe being prepared ahead of time would make the difference and, more importantly, maybe it would be a different person altogether. What were the odds of getting the same delivery guy? Shut up. It could happen. God could be merciful.

Shiro opened the door.

(God was not merciful.)

Long, silky bangs did little to obscure violet-grey eyes that crinkled in the corners as a small smile quirked up on sinful lips, and Shiro was fucking  _ gone _ . He silently commended himself for having managed to both shower  _ and  _ put on moderately clean clothes--if the poor guy was forced to endure Shiro's presence again, the least Shiro could do was make sure he stank less. Small victories. Gotta take the small victories, Shiro.

"Here," Shiro blurted out, thrusting a fistful of crumpled bills forward.

Delivery guy's eyebrows arched in surprise at the sudden gesture.

"Tip," Shiro explained. "Didn't last time." There should probably have been a "sorry" tucked in there somewhere, but Shiro's mouth had mysteriously gone dry.

(God, if you’re listening, could you kill me now? Please??)

"Thanks," the beautifully raspy voice said, all smoke and sex.

Shiro couldn't help imagining how much raspier that voice would sound when breathless from exertion, and he vainly tried to swallow around the Sahara that was his throat.

Delivery twink smiled as he handed over Shiro's food, and this time Shiro stayed at the door long enough to see the guy turn around, and holy SHIT that  _ ASS _ . Pert, round, and framed in pants so tight they should not be legal in public spaces. Jesus. Shiro's hands itched to cup and knead those perfect cheeks. 

Perhaps sensing Shiro's stare, Delivery Guy turned after pressing the elevator button and gave him a half wave. Shiro's mouth clipped shut and he jerked himself back into his apartment, shutting the door harder than intended.

Yup--Shiro the Disaster Gay(tm) was back in business.

  
  


~*~*~

  
  


"Oh hey, laundry," Matt said with an easy smile. It was his way of praising Shiro for Doing a Thing without making a big deal out of it.

Shiro had indeed been doing laundry, or rather, he had made a pile of his dirty clothes (all of them), grabbed a load's worth at random, and now there was a small, clean pile dwarfed by the large, dirty one.

Progress.

Magtt, bless him, had brought takeout with him, so Shiro was free from the tyranny of Grub-a-Dub-Dub for another day, but the prospect of potentially facing Delivery Twink again (gulp) had prompted him to action. Whenever Shiro started a chore, Matt pitched in, no matter how much Shiro protested that Matt already did too much for him, so it was no surprise that Matt stuffed in another load before they settled down for takeout and gaming, and later he got up and started another one. 

It did more good for Shiro than he could ever express. Minor help--the kind that he was a part of, too--was what got him through things. He didn't get overwhelmed that way and he didn't feel nearly as guilty for accepting the help. The only time Matt had ever truly taken him to task was when he had asked if Shiro had trashbags (he did) and if there was still a trash chute located on his floor (there was) and if said chute was working (almost certainly). Matt had sighed, told Shiro they were each picking up a bag, and if Shiro picked up two, Matt would take it out for him so he didn't have to leave. 

Shiro had picked up three.

Since then, he'd managed to keep his apartment's trash situation under control, and even though everything else was utter chaos, he had that going for him.

Matt quietly added his towels and sheets to the mass of laundry, and although the extra loads sank Shiro’s spirits, it was a fair move. He honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd cleaned his sheets, but it was several months at minimum. On his way out the door at the end of the evening, the sheets were moved from the washer.

"Set a timer on your phone or you'll forget the stuff in the dryer," Matt said, which was as far as his mother henning typically went (sans instance on Shiro eating once a day). 

"I hate that you have to do chores with me," Shiro said. "You deserve to actually relax during your free time." It was hardly the first time they'd had this conversation, and Matt came back with his typical reply.

"You'd do the same for me," he said, and damn if it wasn't true. "I don't care if you fold anything or put it away or whatever, but do me a favor and put your sheets on the bed, yeah? Consider it a gift to me."

"Will do," Shiro promised. It was the world's worst gift, but Matt was a dork and being completely sincere, and if it meant that much to him, Shiro would put his damn sheets back on his damn bed. "I'll even be good and eat tomorrow, just for you," he offered, only half joking.

Matt grinned. "Thanks man. Have a good night."

  
  


~*~*~

  
  


If Shiro knew anything about irony and his life, it was that Delivery Guy definitely wouldn't be there to witness his Actually Clean Clothes, thus rendering a day of laundry null and void. And yes--Shiro knew that was a pathetic way to think about it, because having clean clothes was presumably worth the work of laundry in the first place, but maybe  _ Shiro  _ was pathetic, so there.

The doorbell rang, and it was Delivery Twink. Huh. 

(Well, fuck you too, Irony.)

"So," Delivery Guy said, chewing his lip. It would have been incredibly distracting if it weren't for the way he rubbed at the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. Shiro's heart dropped. Here it was. The big Rejection. The butt-staring incident was not appreciated and Delivery Twink was going to be painfully kind and let him down gently, which wasn't fair because Shiro hadn't hit on him in the first place (he'd just ogled like a lecher). "So, uh, I don't think you counted how much you gave me last time, but I brought your tip back."

What.

What what??

He held out the cash, now smoothed and carefully arranged. Shiro panicked. He had indeed not counted the last tip (or today's), and he honestly didn't care how much money it was, there was no scenario on Earth where it was okay for Delivery Twink to  _ give back _ the money when Shiro had only barely managed to give him in the first place. He had  _ finally _ done ONE thing right--now was not the time to undo his progress. He thrust forward today's mass of bills.

Delivery Twink stared at the fresh offering, confused. 

"No, uh, I meant it was too much...?" he said. 

(And holy shit what if it hadn't been enough in the first place holy shit holy shit holy shit Shiro needed to count in the future because what if he'd stiffed a tip and then “generously” gave the guy three bucks the next time he saw him holy shit.)

"Please," Shiro said desperately, tip still outstretched. "P-practice."

Yup. Ladies and gentlemen, this was Shiro's excuse: he needed practice remembering to tip people.

Delivery Twink blinked, and then he laughed.

It was fucking glorious. 

He wasn't laughing  _ at  _ Shiro, either. He was laughing and smiling up at Shiro like they were in on the same joke. 

"Alright, man. Practice," Twink agreed, eyes absolutely sparkling as he accepted Shiro's money (thank fucking god). He handed over the food and, still smiling, gave him a friendly pat on the arm. "Have a good night."

Shiro's soul burned at the touch. The right arm. His right arm. Shiro wasn't wearing gloves, so he  _ had _ to have known and he didn't react at  _ all _ , just gave him another wave at the elevator (because of course Shiro had been fucking staring again, dear god in heaven please unmake him and send him back to the depths of stupidity from whence he came). 

Shiro ducked back in his apartment and sagged against the closed door, eyes screwed tightly shut, and realized it would probably be less creepy if, in the future, he returned the damn wave.

  
  


~*~*~

  
  


It wasn't that Shiro's life  _ completely  _ revolved around Grub-a-Dub-Dub and the Delivery Twink--he just didn't have much else going on to compete for his attention. Other than Matt's visits, the only thing that happened was a weekly trip to the grocery store or, god forbid, a doctor's appointment. His life being what it was, there simply wasn't enough to sufficiently distract him from his Grub-and-Twink worries, so he was always monumentally stressed by the time his food arrived. He was, however, making fantastic progress in that within three weeks' time he had graduated to speaking in full sentences--short sentences, but full ones, so there. The deliveries were simultaneously the worst and best parts of his week, and while he wouldn't say he was  _ used  _ to it yet, at least the situation was becoming familiar.

And then, one day, it wasn't Delivery Twink who was standing at his door. 

"Hey," a large and friendly guy said with a smile so genuine it almost put Shiro at ease. "Got your pasta."

"Oh," Shiro said faintly. "Thanks."

The new guy grinned and they exchanged food and tip.

"Have a good night!" the guy called over his shoulder as he left.

"Yeah," Shiro agreed awkwardly. He stepped back into his apartment with a frown. Had Delivery Twink been busy? Had he quit? Had he finally convinced someone else to take over Shiro's address? Was Shiro overthinking this?

Shiro stared at his box of pasta. He loved pasta. Pasta was his favorite. Only, maybe he didn't feel like pasta after all. It certainly didn't seem appealing at the moment. Fuck it. He'd microwave it for breakfast/lunch/whatever tomorrow. Soup. Soup sounded pretty good. Who didn't like soup? 

Twenty minutes later, Shiro opened the door to see the same friendly, new guy. 

"Soup for you," the guy said cheerfully. "Oh hey--thanks for the second tip."

Shiro nodded vaguely and shut the door. Well. Now he had soup. 

But no dessert.

Another twenty minutes later, the same guy was there, holding a box of assorted cake slices with a funny look on his face. "I don't mean to assume anything, but Keith isn't working tonight, just so you know. Big test tomorrow, so he took the night off." 

Shiro's face burned red. 

Sensing the awkwardness, the friendly guy chuckled a little. "I can see why he always claims your orders, though. These tips have been amazing," he joked. "Have a good night!"

Shiro sat down at his table, stirring his cold soup and considering which piece of cake he was the least-not-hungry for. 

Keith. His name was Keith.

Shiro ate the soup, had half a piece of chocolate cheesecake, and didn't order any more food that evening.

  
  


~*~*~

  
  


_ He always claims your orders. _

That could mean anything. The generous tips would be a good reason. Free entertainment thanks to Shiro-the-Awkward-Clown would be another. ...were those the only two reasons? They were the only two Shiro could think of. Oh! Pity. Pity would make sense, too. Maybe all three? 

Shiro tapped his fingers, waiting for the doorbell to ring. He'd gotten an assortment of Thai dishes, and he was actually feeling a bit hungry. Should he mention Keith's test? Was that too creepy? That was probably too creepy.

_ He always claims your orders. _

Shiro had never chewed his fingernails, but now seemed like a pretty good time to start.

His phone chirped with an incoming message and Shiro nearly lept off the couch in surprise. It wasn't a text alert--who or what wanted him? Wait, a message from Grub-a-Dub-Dub??

**GaDD: hey its ur driver**

**got in a crash, sorry**

**someone will get u a fresh order in like 20 min**

**sorry**

Shiro’s stomach dropped like a cold stone into his gut and he gasped painfully. A crash. There had been a crash. Hands shaking, he messaged back.

**You: where are you?**

**GaDD: ??**

**i’m at 4th and blake but ur food spilled**

**i dont think you want it**

**fresh stuff in 20 and its on the house**

4th and Blake. That was two blocks. Shiro could make it two blocks. Definitely. Definitely definitely. There had been a crash and he could definitely get there, definitely. 

Shiro didn’t let himself think about it. He just ran. 

4th and Blake and a crash. 4th and Blake. Keith and 4th and Blake. The doorman called to him as Shiro made it to the street, but he couldn’t have repeated what was said to save his life. There was pavement and the street and that was familiar, it was fine, he went to the grocer’s once a week and this was just a little bit farther, just a little bit farther to 4th and Blake and Keith.

Considering he’d been running, it couldn’t have taken him more than five minutes to reach Keith, but it felt like hours, and Shiro was breathless and dizzy by the time he spotted black hair and the right silhouette.

“Keith!” he yelled. “Keith, are you okay?”

Keith’s head snapped around and his eyes widened in shock. “Uh, I’m fine,” he said. “Your food is a bust, though. Are you okay?”

Shiro hunched over, hands on his knees, and struggled to breathe. “You said,” he gasped through heaving breaths, “a crash.”

“Yeah,” Keith said. “Some guy ran right in front of me and I crashed my bike. Asshole didn’t stop to help, either. Bike’s toast but I’m okay. Well, I sprained my ankle, but that’s whatever. I’m mostly just pissed about my bike.”

Shiro finally recovered enough to take stock of Keith. His palms were scrapped and the knee of his pants was torn open and stained with blood, but otherwise he did appear to be fine. He was resting his weight entirely on one leg and using his bicycle as a crutch--a fruitless effort, considering the front wheel was severely bent. Pushing the bicycle while trying to balance himself had to be an experiment in futility. 

Shiro straightened up. “How far do you need to push that?” he asked, nodding toward the bike.

“Home,” Keith grimaced. “I have friends with cars but no one that could take my bike, too, and I kinda need it.”

“How far is home?”

“The far side of campus...and then like two miles,” Keith admitted. 

Shiro shook his head. Keith was planning to hobble on a shit ankle for the rest of the evening, apparently. 

“I know,” Keith sighed, “but I gotta keep my bike, and I broke the lock in the crash, so I can’t just leave it somewhere.”

“You can keep it at my place,” Shiro said, and immediately regretted it. His place. The utter den of chaos and clutter that was his apartment. What sort of torment was he hoping to inflict on Keith’s mind? What level of embarrassment was he hoping to sink to?

“Seriously? Oh man, that would be  _ amazing _ .” Keith’s face practically sparkled with hope, and Shiro knew there was no going back.

“Yeah,” he squeaked. “Of course.”

Keith smiled at him like he was the 8th wonder of the world, and oh fuck there went Shiro’s entire vocabulary. 

“Bike,” he barked.

“Huh?” Keith said, startled.

Shiro gestured vainly and made a few non-word noises, trying to explain that he would push the bike for Keith, and Keith smiled again when he figured it out.

“Thanks man,” he said. “It was really hard to push and hop at the same time.”

“Yup,” Shiro said, face red.

“My name’s Keith, by the way, but I guess you knew that?” he said, phrasing it as a question and falling into place next to Shiro.

Shiro’s face burned redder. “Other driver. From Thursday,” Shiro explained. 

A car sped past and honked at some offense (probably the cars going the speed limit) and Shiro tensed. He kept his eyes on the sidewalk in front of him and, what do you know, he wasn't wearing shoes. Great. 

“Oh, that was probably Hunk,” Keith said. “Big guy, super friendly?”

Shiro swallowed and nodded. He could feel the rumble of cars going past him and he gripped the handle bar tighter.

“So, um, what’s your name?” Keith asked, because he was a normal human who knew that introductions were a thing.

“Shiro,” he said. 

“‘Shiro’,” Keith said to himself. “That means ‘white’, doesn’t it?”

Shiro looked up, surprised. “You speak Japanese?”

“No, but I’m half-Japanese and I learned some words when I was a kid. Colors and numbers, that sort of thing.”

Shiro started to smile, but a car next to him slammed on their brakes with a high-pitched squeal and he flinched instead. Goddamn cars and they still had almost two blocks full blocks to go. His knuckles whitened on the handle bar and he steeled himself. He’d come one way; he could go the other. 

Shiro tried to tune out the traffic but that meant tuning out Keith, too, and Keith had just said something, hadn’t he? 

“What?” Shiro said faintly.

A car at a stoplight revved its engine and Shiro didn’t hear Keith’s response. He couldn’t. He couldn’t listen anymore. Not, not yet. Just a minute. He just needed a minute of silence. He could do it--just two blocks. Two blocks in just a minute. What was his hand doing? Was it...on Keith’s chest?!

“In slow, out on five,” Keith murmured.

They were squatted on the ground together, bike abandoned, and Keith had his hands gently pressing Shiro’s flesh hand to his chest. 

“Breathe with me,” he said. “In slow, out on five.”

“Keith…?” he asked weakly.

“You back with me?” Keith smiled. 

Oh fucking god. He’d just had a fucking panic attack in front of Keith in the middle of the goddamn street. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and choked down a sob.

“You’re doing great,” Keith promised, rubbing his back. “Just need a few more deep breaths from you.”

“Sorry,” Shiro whispered.

“Don’t worry about it,” Keith said lightly. “I used to get them all the time.” 

It was several minutes before Shiro felt strong enough to stand. Keith helped him up--an impressive feat considering his ankle--and patted him on the arm. 

“Let’s get you home.”

  
  


~*~*~

  
  


“Looks like Hunk can’t get me until he’s off shift,” Keith said, typing on his phone. “Is it okay if I stay here until then? No pressure if you need your space--there’s a cafe down the street I can chill at.”

Ten minutes ago--before Keith had actually entered his apartment--Shiro would have taken him up on the offer to wait somewhere else. The damage, however, was already done: Keith had witnessed the disaster that was Shiro’s life. 

“Y-you can stay here,” Shiro stammered. “I’ll, um, grab some stuff.”

Shiro ducked into his bathroom, found his first aid kit, and gave himself a stern pep talk in the mirror. Keith already knew he was a freaking idiot, so there was no use hiding it or trying to impress him. The important thing was making sure he was at least modestly comfortable and entertained until his friend could pick him up. Right. He could do this.

Maybe.

He snuck to his bedroom, grabbed a clean(!!) pair of sweatpants, walked back into his living room, and cleared his throat.

“Let me, um, help?” Shiro said. He held up his first aid kit. 

“Oh! Thank you, that’d be great.”

“It’ll be easier to clean your knee if your pants are off,” Shiro said, wanting very much to die but also speaking the absolute truth. 

“Oh,” Keith said, looking down at his knee. “Huh. I didn’t realize it was that bad. Fuck,” he mumbled under his breath, “I really liked this pair.”

“You can use my ba--” Shiro began, but Keith was already wrestling himself out of his jeans. Shiro shut his mouth and looked away, cheeks flaming. 

“Thanks for the sweatpants,” Keith said, taking the pair that Shiro thrust in his direction (while still carefully looking at the wall). There was the rustling of cloth. “I’m decent now,” he said, a hint of teasing in his voice.

“Oh, um, good,” Shiro said.

Keith was now settled back on the couch, pant leg rolled up to expose his injured knee. Shiro knelt next to him and set out his supplies, selecting a medicated wipe and dabbing at the wound.

“You don’t need to do that,” Keith said but Shiro shook his head.

“It’s fine. I’m used to it,” he said, and then grimaced. He probably made it sound like he was used to cleaning his own wounds (thanks a ton, scars), but in reality-- “I went to school for it.”

“Oh yeah?” Keith said, sounding genuinely interested.

“I was in training for search and rescue,” Shiro explained, “before, well.”

The rest should be obvious.

“Wow, that’s incredible! Did you have a specialty in mind?”

“Wilderness, probably, but I mean, I wasn't that far along.”

There was a brief silence and Shiro pulled out a bandage.

“Sorry if it’s weird to talk about,” Keith said. “I’ll shut up.”

“No, no,” Shiro said quickly. “I don’t mind. I’m just not good at talking. About anything.”

(Yeah, no shit.)

Keith just smiled softly and said, “Me either, no worries.”

Shiro should probably not have been as touched by that as he was.

“Let me check your ankle now,” Shiro said, ready to change the subject. He palpated the joint gently and carefully tested the range of motion and capillary refill. “Are you able to move your toes?”

Keith demonstrated, and Shiro realized for the first time that someone’s feet could be cute. What an excellent time for that bit of self discovery. He cleared his throat.

“Everything seems to be okay--not a break, just a sprain,” he announced. “Keep your weight off it and keep it elevated for now. There’s still a chance it could be fractured, so be careful with it. Want me to grab you some aspirin before I get started wrapping it up?”

“Sure,” Keith said, and a minute later he had a pill and some water.

“Once I’m done here I’ll get you some ice,” Shiro promised.

“Really rolling out the royal treatment here,” Keith smirked.

“Oh, um, well,” Shiro stammered, turning red, “it’s basic stuff. I’d do it for anyone.”

(You idiot. You could have been flirting.)

“I’m honored to be your patient anyway,” Keith grinned.

Shiro’s ears stayed pink the entire time he wrapped Keith’s ankle. Just as he was finishing up, there was a knock on the door. Right. Food.

Shiro shouted “Just a minute!” and made a desperate effort to find his wallet before remembering it was in the pants he was wearing.

“Fun to see the panic from this side,” Keith teased.

Shiro wanted to die.

It must have shown on his face, because Keith’s expression instantly changed.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I just meant...fuck,” he mumbled, biting his lip and looking away.

And now Shiro’s awkwardness had made the poor guy feel guilty. Wonderful. A new low. Congratulations, Shirogane.

Shiro walked silently to the door and opened it. Hunk--was that his name?--smiled. 

“Got your food here,” he said. “Thanks for looking out for Keith. I’ll come take him off your hands once my shift is over.” 

Shiro nodded and wordlessly offered the tip.

“No need, man. It’s on the house, and like I said--you’re looking after Keith,” Hunk insisted.

“You have gas,” Shiro said, really trying to be goddamn normal for once but instead implying the kind driver was farting. “Gas money,” Shiro corrected.

Hunk shrugged and pocketed the bills. “Thanks. See you in a few hours.”

The door closed and Shiro walked back to the couch, realizing along the way he had a huge ass bag of Thai food and a guest who might be hungry (and that he didn’t know how to talk to, so maybe eating would help pass the time?).

“Um, do you like Thai? I have…,” Shiro actually had no idea what he’d ordered, and he stared dumbly down into the depths of the bag. “...a lot.”

“You don’t need to feed me,” Keith said.

Shiro glanced at him to see him carefully perched on the edge of the couch, like he was trying to take up as little room as possible. Fuck. He’d made him  _ really  _ uncomfortable.

“It’s not a problem; I always order too much,” Shiro said awkwardly. He sat on the far side of the couch and pulled out a box from the bag of food at random. “Looks like they gave us two forks.” (Thank god, because I have no clean ones and you don’t need to know that.) He peered at Keith from the corner of his eye. “Are you sure you don’t want any? I’ll feel weird eating in front of you--not that you have to eat just to make me feel better!” Shiro corrected hurriedly. “Just, um, there’s more food here than I’m going to eat, so, um, eat if you’re hungry?”

Keith huffed a small laugh, and while he didn’t actually smile, his eyes did the tiny crinkly thing, and Shiro was pretty sure his heart had just stuttered out.

“Thanks,” Keith said softly. “Any preference on what I pick?”

“I don’t remember what I got,” Shiro confessed. “I know something had rice, and I think I got something with raisins? Take what you want. I’m not picky.”

They explored the contents of the bag together and Keith settled on khao phat (which did indeed have raisins) while Shiro had a sour vegetable curry.

“I don’t know what most of this is,” Shiro said, peaking in another box. It was embarrassing both to have ordered food he didn’t know and to not know it in the first place, but at least it seemed to all be good choices. There was rice with eggplant and chicken. It smelled good.

“Do you just pick at random?” Keith asked, stabbing eagerly at his dish.

“Pretty much,” Shiro admitted sheepishly. He hesitated, considering sharing more. Keith probably didn’t care, but conversation was conversation, right? “Usually I’m just not hungry, so it doesn’t matter what I get so long as I eat.”

Keith chewed thoughtfully. “Makes sense.” He chewed some more and swallowed. “If you ever really can’t decide, you could start going by alphabetical order. You’d try everything eventually.”

Something about the suggestion turned Shiro sour, and he pushed at his food distractedly. “Yeah, sure.”

Keith looked at him again, opened his mouth to say something, and then shut it.

“What?” Shiro asked.

“You looked sad all of a sudden, and I wanted to ask what was wrong, but it seemed kind of invasive,” Keith said. His uninjured knee was bouncing.

“Not your fault--I just realized I  _ will  _ probably end up ordering everything at this rate,” he said with a forced smile.

“And that’s...bad?” Keith asked cautiously.

Damn it, the poor kid was trying so hard just to have a conversation! Talk, Shiro! Explain yourself and make sense and just talk!

“Well, I should probably cook something for myself at some point,” Shiro said ruefully.

Keith quirked a small grin. “Some people considering never having to cook to be the ultimate goal.”

“‘Some people’, as in every college student ever?” Shiro guessed.

“Pretty much,” Keith said, his grin spreading.

The grin was contagious, and Shiro smiled back. Keith’s cheeks pinked and he cleared his throat.

“Sorry about earlier,” he said. “I wasn't actually trying to make fun of you for being nervous. I get it. I’m shit at talking and I wasn't sure how much I’d like this job ‘cause I’d have to see so many people, you know? So, I get it. But it’s also just Hunk and me, so you don’t need to worry about us.” He chewed his lip and looked down at his lap. “I know anxiety doesn’t work that way, always, but. It’s us. I don’t know if that makes sense. I was trying to put you at ease and I think I fucked up. I’m sorry. But, just, don’t worry about it when it’s us.” He looked up again, earnest and a little hopeful.

Shiro had no idea what to say. It doesn’t matter? I’m just this broken and fucking stupid? You’re way too pretty for me to be coherent around you in the first place?

(Yeah. Definitely say that last one.)

“I’m…,” he paused. “I’m trying.”

It was a stupid ass thing to say, but Keith’s eyes turned soft and proud. “I know,” he said.

And just like that, Shiro was proud, too. He  _ was  _ trying. He was trying so fucking hard and it was embarrassing as hell that Keith noticed, but at least he wasn't judging him for it. Keith might not know all the circumstances, but he  _ got  _ Shiro anyway. He cleared his throat.

“You, uh, want to watch some TV or something while we wait for Hunk?” Shiro offered.

“Sure,” Keith said. “Whatever’s on is fine.” 

Shiro turned on his TV to discover he’d been in the middle of one of his old  _ Legendary Defender  _ movies, and his cheeks pinked up. It was bad enough that Keith already knew he was a disaster--there was no need for him to know he was a giant nerd, too.

“Oh sweet!  _ Legendary Defender _ !” Keith cried. “I love this show. Oh wait--holy shit is this one of the movies?! Oh my god, I haven’t seen these in years!”

Holy shit, Shiro was in love.

“I can start it over if you like,” Shiro offered shyly.

“If you don’t mind,” Keith said, visibly reigning his excitement in.

And, holy shit again, Shiro was sitting next to the hottest guy he’d ever seen, and they were geeking out to his ultimate guilty pleasure, and they had at least three more hours of this. Shiro wasn't sure if he was going to survive, but if nothing else, he would die happy.

  
  


~*~*~

  
  


It was torture, and heaven, and the worst-best-thing-ever, but Shiro made it through all three hours alive. Keith was hilarious. He had a snarky sense of humor and a genuine laugh and was so, so easy to talk to once Shiro pulled his head out of his ass, and Shiro was so,  _ so _ fucked.

When Hunk came to pick Keith up, Shiro even managed to stammer through a request for Keith’s number (to coordinate the bike return, of course), and Keith’s eyes crinkled as he took Shiro’s phone and tapped in his number. 

“Message me soon, yeah, so I have yours?” Keith said, voice that perfect shade of raspy smoke. He pressed the phone back into Shiro’s totally-not-shaking hand and his fingers brushed over the inside of Shiro’s wrist as he pulled away.

Fuck.

Three hours of calming down: gone.

“Sure,” Shiro squeaked. 

Shiro saw them to the door and watched as Hunk helped Keith hobble down the hall. His ass was every bit as enticing in Shiro’s (!!) sweatpants as it was in tight jeans, and yes, maybe Shiro stared longer than he should have, but at least this time he waved back when they reached the elevator.

Progress.

  
  


~*~*~

  
  


“Holy frick, what’s this?” Matt asked the next morning as he stepped into Shiro’s living room. He had a key which he made liberal use of, and he occasionally stopped by in the mornings to share a breakfast of bagels and coffee. This appeared to be one of those mornings, and Shiro was surprised to find himself actually hungry.

“Thanks,” he said, reaching for the offered food. “I’m, uh, trying to fix a bike.”

“I can see that,” Matt said, eyeing Shiro’s progress (almost none). “Didn’t know you had a bike, much less a broken one.”

“It’s, um, not mine?” Shiro said, biting into his bagel and pretending Matt wouldn’t keep asking questions.

“Okay, so what’s the story behind it--did a neighbor ask you for help?” Matt said, plopping down on the floor next to Shiro and examining the carnage in greater detail. “Looks okay, just super bent, but I wouldn’t bet on the spokes holding out forever.”

“Not a neighbor, no, it was one of the Grub drivers,” Shiro mumbled, taking a larger bite of bagel.

Matt raised his eyebrows.

“Seriously? Did one of my delivery dudes bring their bike with them to your door?”

“No, I, uh, I went outside,” Shiro said. “He used the app to let me know he’d crashed, so….”

Matt’s eyes went soft with understanding. “You’re a good guy, Shirogane.”

“Yeah, well, I hope so,” Shiro said, cheeks flushing. 

“Why are you trying to fix it for them, though?” Matt said. “I get letting them keep the bike here, but this seems a little--wait.” He narrowed his eyes. Shiro blushed harder and attempted to look innocent. “Am I witnessing the return of Disaster Shiro?”

Shiro stuffed the rest of his bagel in his mouth and chewed vigorously.

“Hah!” Matt cried in triumph. “This is amazing! Who is it? I don’t know them all personally but I can totally go snooping. Don’t give me that look--I  _ will  _ wait until you’re done chewing, so there is no getting out of this, Shirogane.”

Shiro awkwardly swallowed the large lump of bagel and glowered. “His name is Keith and if you’re going to be a menace, help me figure out how to text him.”

“Oh my god, you got his number?!” Matt squealed. “I’m so proud!”

“Yes, now shut up and help me type.”

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” Matt said, scooting closer to look at Shiro’s phone. 

Shiro had managed to wait all of two minutes before texting Keith the night before, because what was the point in being coy when this was definitely just about the bike and not flirting, and what if Keith had sudden and urgent bike-related questions?

**Shiro: Hey, it’s me.**

**Shiro.**

**Keith: ur quick**

**;)**

**Thx**

Matt looked up at Shiro, unimpressed. “Uh, pretty sure you don’t need my help with that.”

“But there’s nothing to  _ say _ !” Shiro protested.

“Exactly. He ended the conversation. So, you can either ask him how he’s doing today or you can give up. Easy peasy.”

Shiro chewed his lip. “I could ask him about his ankle, I guess. He did sprain it.”

“See? You don’t need my help for this. Say ‘Hey, how’s your ankle?’ and tada, you’re back in the game.”

**Shiro: Good morning. I hope your ankle is doing better.**

“Formal, but serviceable,” Matt nodded before standing up. “Listen, I gotta head out now, but you  _ have  _ to keep me abreast of all things Disaster, okay?”

Shiro promised and returned to tinkering with the bike. He’d gotten the wheel somewhat straightened out, but without proper tools, he wouldn’t be getting further. Fuck. He needed to start working out again. Once upon a time, he could have flexed this into shape, no problem.

His phone dinged and he scrambled for it. Keith wouldn’t have texted back already, would he? Oh fuck, he was a college student--he’d probably been sleeping and Shiro woke him up and now he was going to yell at Shiro to back off.

**Keith: better, thx!**

**i had a good nurse help me out ;)**

**im lucky~**

Shiro smiled.

**Shiro: Glad to be of help**

**Keith: who says i meant u? i went to the student health center**

Shiro stopped smiling and started backtracking. 

**Keith: jk!**

**i mean i went there too but u were great**

**ty**

Oh god Shiro sucked at this. Should he flirt? Was this flirting? Fuck fuck fuck. 

**Shiro: Did they did they give you an estimate for recovery time?**

(What are you doing? Quizzing him?)

**Keith: i wont be delivering for at least 2 weeks :(**

**Probably 4**

**Shiro: That sucks**

**Keith: yeah**

**but ill get my bike out of ur place before then i swear**

**Shiro: Take your time**

**I mean I guess you need a way to get to classes so you can pick your bike up as soon as you like**

**Obviously**

**Just don’t worry about me**

**My place is a wreck**

**Ovbviously**

***Obviously**

**So a bike isn’t gonna bother me or take up room**

**Just come by whenever is conveninet**

***Convenient**

**I’m always here**

(Stop. Typing. Shirogane.)

**Keith: thx :)**

**ur the best**

Shiro put his head between his knees and breathed out. He was surviving this. Somehow, he was surviving this. Keith was an angel. 

**Keith: btw u were wrong**

Shiro frowned. That was entirely possible--he was wrong about a lot of things--but what would Keith have picked up on that he felt the need to comment on?

**Shiro: ?**

**Keith: Captain Luke doesnt get promoted until season 4**

Shiro huffed a laugh.

**Shiro: Sounds like both of us are wrong then, because you agreed with me!**

**Keith: no. i just didnt disagree with u**

**i was being polite**

**im a good guest**

**Shiro: So now that you’re out of my apartment you’re entitled to be a brat?**

(Oh god did that sound teasing or just insulting?)

**Keith: im always a brat**

**;)**

Shiro was officially blushing at an emoticon. A new low.

**Keith: hey hope im not a bother, but could i borrow the next movie since we didnt finish?**

An opening. A giant opening for an invitation if he was brave enough to take it. Cheeks furiously red, Shiro replied.

**Shiro: Why not come watch it here? Since you’re a pretty good guest**

Fingers crossed, Shiro clutched his phone and prayed while he waited for an answer.

**Keith: sounds great**

**and ill be good for you anytime ;)**

Shiro set down the phone and buried his face in his hands to muffle an un-manly noise that was  _ definitely  _ not a squeal.

He was going to see Keith again, and he was going to clean his fucking apartment.

  
  


~*~*~

  
  


Three days. It had been a mere three days since he’d last seen Keith and they’d been texting the whole time. And yet, somehow, he’d managed to forget just how devastatingly attractive the boy was, and so the three days of camaraderie and teasing were for nothing.

Shiro opened the door, and stared.

Keith licked his lips once as he tucked back a stray lock of hair. “Hey,” he said, voice all smoke and sex, “thanks for letting me get in your pants.”

Shiro.exe has stopped working.

Keith laughed softly and held out a plastic bag. “I washed them for you. Seriously, thanks for letting me borrow them.”

Oh. Right.

“Y-you’re welcome,” Shiro said, grabbing the bag and standing back to let Keith in. He escorted Keith down the hall and to the living room where he had Actually Clean Plates on the coffee table for when their food arrived later in the evening.

“Oh hey,” Keith said, stopping next to his bike. “Your place looks great and now my poor bike is out of place.” 

Shiro couldn’t decide if he felt embarrassed that Keith noticed or proud that his work paid off. Both. Definitely both.

“Huh,” Keith said, leaning closer, “I thought it was more damaged than this.”

“Oh, well, I tried to fix it, but…,” Shiro mumbled, ears turning pink. “You’re gonna need to take it to a shop.”

Keith glanced up at him, his eyes all crinkly and warm. “Thanks, Shiro,” he said softly. 

They made themselves comfortable on the couch (with Shiro taking perhaps too much time fussing over Keith’s ankle while Keith humored him) and then indulged in an evening of vintage scifi and delicious Italian (courtesy of Hunk and Grub-a-Dub-Dub because there was no way in hell Shiro was going to try cooking for a boy as incandescently cute as Keith), and the whole thing went without a hitch.

Shiro was stunned.

It was a good evening.

An honest-to-god, no-strings-attached, actually good evening.

Keith was laughing and smiling the whole time, and Shiro managed to make full sentences. A complete success. A terrifying accomplishment. A harbinger of either recovery or sudden breakdown. Only time would tell.

  
  


~*~*~

  
  


They didn’t stop texting. It was mostly about shows and the like at the start, but it didn’t take long before they were messaging like regular friends, giving each other shit and talking about their days. Once Keith’s ankle recovered and he was back to delivering, Shiro made it a habit to order his food late enough to be Keith’s last stop of the evening, and more often than not, Keith would hang around and help him eat it.

There was no denying things were going well but, despite whatever Matt might think, Shiro had no interest in taking things further.

“I’m not ready to date anyone. I’m not anywhere  _ near  _ ready to date anyone,” Shiro said, rolling his eyes. “What exactly about agoraphobia screams ‘datable’ to you?”

“It doesn’t matter if  _ I _ think you’re datable,” Matt argued back. “It matters if he thinks you’re datable, and from all appearances he likes you.”

“Not the same thing,” Shiro said. “Also,  _ I _ don’t want to date someone while I’m like this. I know I’d be unhappy if I couldn’t take someone out on a date, even if they were okay with it. So yeah, I think Keith is super cute and hilarious and pretty much perfect, but no: I don’t want to date him. ….what? What’s that look mean?”

Matt was giving him the deep, thoughtful kind of look that spelled trouble.

“How do you know?” he asked.

“How do I know what?” Shiro cautiously said, suspicious.

“How do you know you can’t take him on a date?”

“Um, because I had a panic attack the last time I went anywhere aside from the grocery store or the hospital? How’s that for empirical evidence?”

“Shiro, you thought he’d been in an accident,” Matt said gently. “Of course you panicked.”

That was a fair point, but the issue still stood--Shiro had precisely two places he could go, and he wasn't taking Keith on a date to either of them.

“How about you do a test run? There’s a coffee place right across from my building on campus. Offer to meet him there, and if it doesn’t work, I’ll drive you home. You don’t have to call it a date, either. Coffee can just be coffee. Ooo, better idea--tell him it’s a test run! Not a date test run, just a test run. See how you handle being out and stuff.”

Shiro hated that this was a good idea. Keith understood panic attacks, and he might not know much about Shiro’s accident, but he’d picked up on enough. One minor detail--

“Believe it or not, I don’t actually want to put myself in a position where I’m almost guaranteed to have a panic attack in front of my crush,” Shiro said.

“Okay, fair,” Matt agreed. “Still. Think about it.”

  
  


~*~*~

  
  


Shiro did think about it. A lot. It was a good idea. Keith was incredible and understanding would totally be cool about it. He could handle this. Definitely.

**Keith: sry cant go**

Orrrr not.

**Keith: i have a lab then :(**

**raincheck? :)**

Or maybe!!

Shiro rapidly typed out a slew of options, and Keith picked one for two days out.

**Keith: i could use the caffeine then anyways lol**

Shiro couldn’t stop smiling. He had a not date! Sort of. He should...probably tell Keith what this was about, right? It was just so embarrassing to admit how damaged he was.

**Shiro: Thanks for agreeing to come with me. It’s sort of an experiment. I haven’t gotten a coffee since my accident.**

The answer was immediate.

**Keith: we can go at a different time if its easier for you**

**whatever is best for you**

**srsly**

Shiro was touched by the show of support. Keith was amazing. 

**Shiro: Thank you. Time of day won’t make a difference. I just don’t go anywhere but the**

**doctor or the grocery store, and I want to try more.**

(And he was actually pretty proud of that last one because he could have the groceries delivered if he ever got  _ really  _ bad, but this was his measuring stick of well he was doing. Also, they had his favorite chips and almost no one carried it anymore.)

**Keith: if you want someone to go with to places you can always text me**

Shiro hadn’t been fishing for a response like this, but he was so, so glad he’d gotten one. Jesus. Keith was beyond amazing. He was the most perfect creature in the world, and he had a super cute ass. 

Fuck.

Shiro really did want to date Keith.

(Fuck.)

Time to man up and get some damn coffee.


	2. Chapter 2

It was not the first time Matt had borrowed his family's ancient minivan in order to haul Shiro some place he couldn't walk to, and the familiarity probably helped ease his anxiety, but it certainly didn't do his dignity any favors. 

"Why again am I doing this?" Shiro moaned from the backseat. 

"This is your captain speaking, reminding all passengers that they are trying to tap that ass, and good dick is worth everything," Matt said merrily. "Want me to drop you off in front or park here?"

"Here is fine," Shiro said. 

Matt pulled into the parking lot next to his building on campus which left Shiro with less than a block to walk to the coffee shop. 

"You good to walk over alone?" Matt hummed. "I've got time."

"I can manage it," Shiro promised. The campus traffic was relatively slow, and he'd been on campus enough times to feel something approaching confidence. He could do this. He could have coffee with a pretty boy. 

"Atta boy," Matt said, smacking Shiro on the butt. "Go get 'em. Kiss the twink! Chug the caffeine!" 

"Yell that a little louder, please," Shiro said, smiling despite himself and shaking his head. "See ya in a bit."

They parted ways and Shiro started toward Cups & Cups. It was the time of year that Shiro thought of as Not-Spring, and the early afternoon was very nearly warm. Shiro had the oddest realization that he missed weather--not spring or wind or rain or anything in particular, just being outside and feeling something other than recycled air on his face. Huh. Well, if he wasn't going to leave his apartment, he could at least open some windows.

He was broken out of his contemplation by the sultry, smoky sound of Keith's voice calling his name. 

"Hey Shiro, you made it," Keith said. He was leaning up against the side of Cups & Cups, hands shoved in the pockets of his leather jacket for warmth, and it was unfair how gorgeous his legs looked encased in tight jeans and accented by his customary combat boots. 

He pushed off the wall and Shiro's brain stuttered out momentarily at the way his hips swayed. Fuck. Shiro wanted to put his hands on them and see if he really could fit all the way around. Fuck. 

Keith laughed softly and Shiro thought he'd been caught staring, but Keith was just messing with his bangs, apparently amused by the way they stubbornly fell back in his eyes.

"I keep telling myself I'm going to get them cut but I kinda want to grow out my hair. What do you think?"

I think your hair would look perfect on my pillow. I think it would feel amazing between my fingers when I yank your head back as I----

"I think it looks great," Shiro squeaked, forcibly beating back his excited libido.

Keith chuckled and his cheeks pinked slightly, possibly due to the slight chill of a breeze. 

"Thanks," he said. "Ready to go in?"

Shiro nodded and they entered the café. It was full of students (no surprise) but wasn't overly loud, and there were a number of comfy chairs sprawled about, interspersed with tables for the less conversionally-inclined. He'd been in before during his own days as a student, but they'd updated their décor since then. It had a more homey feel now. He liked it. 

Keith led the way to the counter and Shiro was just thinking he'd made a big deal out of nothing--the drive had been uncomfortable but still tolerable--when the barista asked him what he wanted to order. Suddenly, there were choices.

Up to this point, everything had been easy. Park here or there (yes or no). Walk alone or with Matt (yes or no). Go inside now or later (yes or no). Pick a beverage? Shiro scanned the long list of flavors, shots, sizes, milks, and teas with mounting despair. 

"Okay if I order for you?" Keith asked, casual and calm.

(Yes or no).

"Sure," Shiro said, visibly sagging with relief.

"What do you have that's sweet but not insane?" Keith asked the barista. 

One minute later their drinks were ordered and they were seated in two overstuffed chairs, waiting on their beverages. 

Shiro could seriously have kissed him.

"Thank you," he said with perhaps too much sincerity and enthusiasm.

"No problem," Keith hummed. "If you don't like it, you can have mine, or I'll just get you another one. It's no biggie."

Oh fuuuuck Shiro hadn't even thought about paying. He'd invited Keith on a  _ practice date _ and Keith had paid. Goddamnit. He started to protest and Keith interrupted him with a quiet laugh.

"You feed me all the time, Shiro. Seriously. It's fine. Plus, your tips are always amazing. Don't worry about it."

Those things were true, but Shiro still felt like an idiot, and he said as much. 

"Why?" Keith asked. "It's not like you would've walked out of the store without paying--they'd have reminded you at the counter. You were just distracted and I took advantage. That doesn't make you stupid; it makes me sneaky, and super cool," he added with a wink.

Shiro tried (and failed) not to blush. Thankfully, the barista called out their order and he was saved from attempting to wrangle his tongue into making a response. He had himself more or less under control by the time he handed Keith his drink and took a sip of his own.

"It's good," he announced. It had cinnamon and possibly nutmeg with something spicier underneath, but the overall flavor was still sweet. 

"Good," Keith said softly, his eyes crinkling in the way that made Shiro's heart squeeze. 

Fuck. Forget PTSD and panicking in public--he couldn't take Keith on a real date just because his gay heart couldn't take it. Jesus H. Christ. 

"Yo, Keith!" called out a lanky, brown-skinned boy. He was grinning wildly and finger gunning and if his hair hadn't been a Problem, Shiro probably would have found him attractive under different circumstances. As it was, he was sitting across from the world's hottest twink, who had just blushed in the cutest possible way, and so he was nothing by comparison. Keith, on the other hand, was not smiling.

"Uh, hey Lance," Keith said, a glare in his eyes. 

Lance ignored the expression and happily sauntered over. "Who is the hunk? Is this Shiro the legendary tipper?"

(His tips weren't  _ that  _ good, were they? Were people just shitty tippers in general? Did Keith actually talk about him to other people???)

"Yes, this is Shiro, and he probably doesn't like people talking about him like he's not here," Keith said, glare deepening. 

"Hi, I'm Lance," Lance said, turning smoothly from Keith to Shiro and sticking out his hand. "I'm gonna go order and then I'll be back with reinforcements, 'cause they should be getting here like, now."

He shook Shiro's mechanical hand without commenting, so that was a plus mark in Shiro's book, but overall Shiro was a little bewildered.

"Sorry, he's a friend and kind of an ass," Keith said, well before Lance was out of hearing range. Lance made a noise of protest but kept walking to the counter. "Anyway, I can tell him to leave."

"No, it's fine," Shiro said, smile strained. He didn't want his Not Date interrupted, but he did want to glean more information on if/how Keith was talking about him. He could handle one more person. Only, wait a second--reinforcements?!

"Oh, hey Shiro," Pidge called, walking over. Behind her came Hunk. Small world.

"Hi Pidge," Shiro smiled, happy to see Matt's younger sister. She was a strong personality and would hopefully counteract Lance and company should she choose to sit with them. Hunk would be welcome, too. Maybe. This was getting to be crowded. Or were these new additions the “reinforcements”?

"You know Pidge?" Lance squawked as he walked back over. "Wait--do you know Hunk, too? How come everyone got to meet Shiro before me?"

"Hey, could you guys maybe give us some room?" Keith said, glancing at Shiro. Was it that obvious that he was getting uncomfortable?

"Oh god--are you two on a date?!" Lance said. "Geez, I'm sorry. Say something next time! We'll get out of your hair. C'mon." He tugged Hunk and Pidge away, who waved goodbye and elbowed him (in that order).

Keith buried his face in his hands and groaned. Shiro wondered if Keith was more upset by the date comment or his friends' overall intrusion, and he prayed it was the later.

"Sorry about that," he said. "They're a bit much."

"It's fine," Shiro said weakly, more overwhelmed with the past three minutes than he cared to admit. "So, uh, how do you know Pidge?"

"She's another Grub driver--same with Lance--but I knew everyone before then. We went through Freshman Orientation together back in the day. Lance, Hunk and I are all rooming together now, and Pidge is over so often she might as well be rooming with us, too."

"No kidding," Shiro said. He mentally berated himself for not keeping in closer contact with Pidge--she clearly had good taste in friends (although the jury was still out on Lance). "That's kinda cool. She's my best friend's--Matt's--younger sister, so I've known her for years."

"That’s awesome," Keith said. He paused for a beat. "Sorry again. I would have suggested a different place if I'd thought we'd run into them. They're great, but like I said: they're a bit much." 

"In all fairness, I probably should have realized we'd run into students in a coffee shop next to campus," Shiro smiled. "Besides, I'm glad I got to meet your friends."

"Oh yeah?" Keith said, giving him another devastating round of crinkly-eyes. "They didn't scare you away?"

(Why did this have to sound so much like flirting?)

"Not yet," Shiro said, sipping his drink with what might have been a shaky hand. He was too fucking gay for this.

Wait.

WAIT.

Lance had thought they were on a date! Keith was gay! Or bi or pan or  _ something  _ and holy shit that was awesome. Not that it mattered, because he still totally wasn't going to ask him out, but  _ still _ . Nice to know his gaydar was still functioning (he had yet to meet a completely straight man who wore pants as tight as Keith did).

"What? What's that expression?" Keith asked.

"Uh, nothing. Just thought of something," Shiro said, clearing his throat. "Want to go for a walk?"

~*~*~

They wandered campus for a while, but eventually Shiro's nerves did catch up to him. Keith somehow managed to make it seem like Shiro's idea when he escorted him to Matt's (despite it being nowhere near his next class) and if he hadn't been emotionally exhausted, Shiro would have been elated. Honestly, the whole afternoon had gone much better than expected. Maybe his last panic really was because he'd been so triggered by the thought of Keith being in an accident, not because he'd gone outside in general.

It helped to have planned ahead (and to have the option of fleeing to the relative safety of Matt's office anytime). It also helped to have Keith with him. As much as Keith was murder on his poor gay heart, he truly was a steadying presence. 

"Thanks for letting me hang out with you today," Keith said as they neared Matt's office. "It's really cool that you trusted me with this. I hope I did okay."

Jesus fuck, and now Keith was acting like it was an honor to be there in case Shiro massively wiped out. 

"You were perfect," Shiro said fervently. "Thanks for being here."

"Perfect, huh?" Keith said, a small smile playing on his lips. "No pointers for a potential second outing?" 

"Nope. Completely perfect," Shiro assured him, answering Keith's smile with one of his own, "but I do need to go soak my head in ice water or something for a while. Decompress."

"Good," Keith said. "You take care of yourself, Shiro." He hesitated. "I'll see you tonight...?"

"I haven't scared you off?" Shiro joked.

"Not yet," Keith grinned. 

They agreed Keith would finish off his shift with pizza at Shiro's, and a part of Shiro couldn't help hoping this was Not Date number 2.

~*~*~

"How was it?" Matt asked as he drove Shiro home.

"He's gay," Shiro said, naturally bringing up the most important topic first.

"Well, duh," Matt said. "You told me about his pants. Anyway. How'd the rest of it go?"

Shiro told him, and Matt could barely reign in his praise.

"Dude, I'm so fucking proud of you! You were amazing!"

"Yes, the pinnacle of mental health that I am, I managed to order coffee in public," Shiro said wryly.

"Shut up, you were awesome," Matt said good-naturedly. "Seriously, you've improved so much in the past few months, and it's incredible, and shut up."

Shiro sighed, but he smiled a bit anyway. He appreciated what Matt was saying, even if he didn't really agree. It wasn't that Matt was wrong--it was that the bar for improvement was so low. Still, today hadn't been a disaster... Maybe there was another small goal he could try for? He'd think on it, but later--tonight he had pizza and Keith, and that was more than enough reward for his efforts.

~*~*~

Somehow, coffee with Keith became a thing. Mostly, they went to the places near Shiro's apartment (it was an American city--there were coffee shops on pretty much every corner), but sometimes they went to Cups & Cups. Keith's friends met up with them at Cups & Cups, and even though that tired Shiro out, he liked it. It was fascinating to watch Keith with his friends. He bristled a lot (Shiro could see what he meant by having trouble with people), but his friends had him figured out and weren't bothered. It was obvious that Keith genuinely cared about them, and they understood it despite his prickly attitude. Shiro was glad. Keith deserved people like that in his life.

Shiro also couldn't help noticing that, while they were both awkward separately, Keith fit with him seamlessly. They'd had a few rough moments at the start of their friendship, but now they were thoroughly in sync. He hoped that meant he was good for Keith in some ways, too. It also continuously astonished him just how in tune Keith was with his anxiety levels, gently coaxing him down when he got carried away and easily lifting him up on the days his depression threatened to overtake him. Shiro had no idea what he'd done to earn Keith's affection and friendship, but he made certain to always have a ready supply of food and a generous tip for every delivery. Keith tried to waive off the tips, pointing out that Shiro always fed him, but Shiro pointed out he had always ordered too much food and this was Keith's job, and when it came down to it, he was stubborn as hell.

"I should just give up," Keith said, throwing up his hands as Shiro once again insisted on tipping him. 

"You really should," Shiro agreed, pointedly holding out the money.

Keith laughed and shook his head but finally pocketed the cash.

Good.

They settled together on Shiro’s couch and ate takeout while  _ Legendary Defender _ spin off, _ Galaxies Away, _ played in the background. It was a comfortable and familiar scene now, and Shiro loved it. Often times Keith would work on homework for a few hours before taking his leave, apologizing for taking up Shiro’s time (as if Shiro could possibly have something better to do than hang out with Keith). Tonight, however, Keith threw him a curveball. 

“There’s gonna be a  _ Legendary Defender _ panel at NerdCon this year and a bunch of us are gonna go. I’d love it--we’d love it--if you came,” Keith said, studying his open textbook without looking up. “I know that might, um, not be something you’d like, but… you’re invited. Really invited. Not just ‘I’m being polite’ invited.” His pencil tapped rapidly on the edge of his book. He was nervous about asking Shiro--how sweet.

Shiro laughed awkwardly. “Well, I mean, I’d  _ like  _ to go, but I think I’ll have to pass. Thanks, though.”

Keith’s nervous tension dripped into a disappointed slouch of his shoulders, but he kept his focus on his textbook. “No worries,” he said. 

Dammit dammit dammit. A cute boy had just specfically invited him to what would have been a dream weekend and Shiro had to turn him down because he was a fucking pathetic loser who couldn’t leave his apartment without screaming in the street. Yes, he was going to feel very sorry for himself, thank you. 

(He’d try not be  _ too  _ sorry until after Keith left, though. He was a polite host and could sulk on his own time.)

Keith made an effort to be normal for the rest of the evening, but he barely looked at Shiro, only sending him quick glances. Keeping tabs on Shiro’s mood must have been tiring, because Keith elected to leave a half hour earlier than usual. His disappointment had shown and made Keith uncomfortable. Fuck. 

“I’m sorry,” Keith said at the doorway when he left. He was full of earnest sincerity and Shiro didn’t have a clue what to do about it. Was Keith apologizing for leaving? For inviting Shiro? For trying to be friends with Shiro in the first place?

“It’s okay,” Shiro offered lamely. 

After he shut the door, Shiro punched the nearest wall.

Fuck. This.

Fuck being stuck inside. Fuck being sick. Fuck being a weak ass loser who couldn’t do basic shit without taking up his friends’ time. Fuck being  _ him _ .

Fuck being goddamn sorry for himself 24/7. This ended. This ended now.

~*~*~

Anger, it turned out, was a better motivator than guilt and depression. Shiro still only managed a block and a half toward his destination on the first day, but he left the apartment on his own, and that fucking  _ counted _ , thank you very damn much.

The second day, even angrier than before, Shiro made it two and a half blocks. The third day, Shiro made it three. 

(He didn’t go  _ in  _ the gym, but he made it  _ to  _ the gym. Progress.)

Days four through five Shiro walked the three blocks, back and forth, multiple times. There was no way he could actually be a human being and set up a membership if he was panicking just from having walked there, so he decided to make sure he could walk the route first. It freaked him out some, being outside for several hours, but getting his heartrate up from the walking helped his nerves. Nothing bad had happened. And he’d gotten to pet three dogs. 

Day six saw Shiro walking into the gym, getting a membership and a tour, and then walking home. Day seven he worked out. Day eight he complained to Matt.

“My lats. My glutes. My triceps,” he groaned. “Everything hurts. And I only did ten pull ups because of my stupid arm, too.”

“I’m pretty sure I couldn’t do two pull ups, my man, but that still sucks. Sorry,” Matt said, giving Shiro a sympathetic pat on the arm. 

“It’s my fault. Should have kept up with my physical therapy exercises,” Shiro said, rubbing at his shoulder. “I’m off balance with everything.”

“You better start doing those exercises again,” Matt said, narrowing his eyes. “You’ll tear something if you have to overcompensate.”

“I know, I know,” Shiro grumbled. “At least they have good machines.” 

“Wait. Wait a second.  _ Where  _ do they have good machines? You said the stuff in your building sucks,” Matt said. “Did they get new machines?”

“Nope,” Shiro said, smacking the “p”. “I went to Iverson’s.” 

“Holy shit, dude! That’s awesome!” Matt cried. 

Shiro grinned. “Took me a week, but I went.” 

“You went,” Matt agreed. He was grinning, too. He nudged Shiro with his elbow. “Getting swol again for a certain Mr. Tight Pants?”

“Getting out of the house for something I actually like doing,” Shiro said, but yes, the other idea had crossed his mind. Once or twice.

“Well, good for you, man. I’m betting Mr. Pants will appreciate it either way,” Matt winked.

“Maaatt, at least call him Keith,” Shiro said. 

Matt just laughed. He was a good friend, but like all good friends, he was kind of an ass sometimes. Shiro didn’t need the extra teasing about Keith, and it would take more than building up his muscles again to make him attractive. 

Still, it was all progress. He’d take it.

~*~*~

“Jesus H. Christ! What the hell is this green stuff?!” Matt yelled. He’d gone to Shiro’s fridge for a beer and was now staring in shock at his crisper drawer.

“It’s called ‘spinach’,” Shiro said, coming up behind him to see what had caused the commotion. “I bet you’ve heard of it.”

Matt whirled around and poked Shiro in the chest. “It’s been nigh on ten years since last I saw a vegetable in this apartment that wasn't precooked, and you know it.”

“Gotta have more than protein shakes,” Shiro said with a shrug. He’d been going to Iverson’s Gym for a month now, and it was past time his diet reflected it. Plus, buying perishable food items meant he went to the grocery store more frequently. 

Progress.

~*~*~

  
  


“So, uh, I don’t mean to be weird and ask about it, but have you started working out or something?” Keith said. “You look...different.”

Shiro snorted. “I hope that’s a compliment,” he said gruffly. 

“Oh, yes, it’s definitely a compliment,” Keith said quickly, his cheeks pink with embarrassment.

Shiro laughed. “Just messing with you,” he grinned. “Yeah, I’ve been working out. Feels good.”

“Looks good,” Keith said, cheeks still pink.

“Thanks,” Shiro said.

Progress.

  
  


~*~*~

  
  


It wasn't like Shiro had ever gotten  _ really  _ out of shape. On the days he was filled with nervous energy that demanded a release, he had done lunges or crunches or something until his brain finally calmed. It was far from a regular thing, and it didn’t hit a lot of muscle groups, but it had helped. Now, though, when he looked in the mirror, he saw someone he half-recognized. The scars were gruesome and everywhere, of course, but at least the body was close to what Shiro still thought of as his normal. His pubes, though, had gotten wild. That was an easy fix (not that anyone but him would be looking there, but still. An easy fix). 

Shiro hummed thoughtly as he examined himself in the mirror, flexing occasionally. Things really were looking a heck of a lot better. He should get a haircut, he decided. There was a place a few blocks away. Time to make an appointment.

  
  


~*~*~

  
  


“You cut your hair.”

“Yup,” Shiro said, cheeks starting to burn. He knew he looked different, but he wasn't expecting Keith’s reaction to be open mouthed staring. Did it look bad? He hadn’t minded the length before, but it hadn’t been neat. He’d opted for getting his old undercut, but he kept the rest of it a little longer so he could pull it back. “I know a man bun is a bit controversial, but I liked it.” Fuck. His palms were starting to sweat. Maybe he should just go bald and forget about it.

“It looks good!” Keith assured him hurriedly. “Really, really good. You look good. Don’t worry about it.” His ears were turning red, and Shiro felt bad for making him embarrassed, but he couldn’t help but be cautiously happy about the praise.

“Yeah?” he asked shyly.

“Yes,” Keith promised sincerely. “It looks great, Shiro.”

“Awesome,” Shiro said, warmth curling in his gut. He stared back at Keith for a second before jolting back to himself. “Sorry! I’ll move so you can get in.” 

(Someday, Shiro was going to stop being overwhelmed whenever he saw Keith. It was definitely going to happen. He  _ would  _ tame his gay. Just wait.) 

Keith came in and set out the Grub delivery as per their usual set up. Shiro had the plates and utensils ready with a hefty tip tucked under Keith’s plate--which caused him to chuckle before he pocketed it--and they settled down for food and TV. 

“I heard a rumor they’re doing an announcement for a new spinoff at the  _ Legendary Defender  _ panel at NerdCon,” Shiro said casually. 

Keith cast him a quick glance before returning to his plate of enchiladas. “Oh yeah?” he said. “That’d be cool.”

“Yeah, fingers crossed,” Shiro said. He chewed on a mouthful of rice and swallowed. “So Matt’s going with you, isn’t he? He told me he was going to be ‘out of town’ in June and didn’t elaborate more, but I’m not stupid,” he chuckled. “He volunteered to help run lights again, didn’t he?”

Keith put down his fork. “I’m sorry, Shiro. We weren’t trying to keep stuff from you, it’s just...I thought it would make you uncomfortable if we talked about it in front of you,” he said. He looked immensely guilty, and Shiro now felt bad for teasing him in a roundabout way.

“Hey, hey, it’s fine,” Shiro assured him. “I know you guys are just looking out for me. I would like to know what the plans are, though, because I bought tickets yesterday.” He waited for the grin, and he got it.

“Shiro! That’s incredible! You’re really gonna go?” Keith cried. His eyes were shining, and he was just  _ so damn happy _ that Shiro was going with them, and the happiness made him  _ beautiful _ , and if Shiro had known what Keith would like in this moment, he would have agreed to go from the start, no matter how hard it was going to be.

“If Matt can drive me, yeah. I do okay in his mom van,” Shiro said with a sheepish smile. 

“That’s perfect,” Keith said excitedly. “We were all planning on carpooling with him, and that’s just the right amount of seats. This is awesome. I’m so happy you’re going to go!”

Keith was so delighted that he was practically bouncing in his seat and, because anxiety is a bitch, Shiro instantly worried he was going to disappoint the hell out of him when he inevitably wasn't able to go--because what was he thinking? Of  _ course  _ he’d have a panic attack mid-route that was so bad they’d have to take him to a hospital and it would last for days and they’d all miss the con and it would all be his fault (and they’d all hate him).

“I mean, I  _ plan  _ to go,” Shiro stammered. “I’m going to do my best.”

Keith’s eyes sparkled. “I know you are,” he said. “How can I help? Do you want to look up the venue and hotels beforehand? We could use Google street view if nothing else so you’re familiar with the outside, at least.”

(Shiro wanted to propose.)

“Yeah, that would be nice,” he squeaked. 

Keith eagerly set aside his plate and scooted closer on the couch, getting shoulder to shoulder as he pulled up his phone and began to type. They spent the next 30 minutes getting familiar with the city, con, and venue, searching past cons for pictures and a better idea of the layout. Shiro would have to redo all the research later--he  _ might  _ have been distracted by the subtle scent of Keith’s shampoo.

“So, did that help at all?” Keith asked, all earnest hope and genuine kindness.

“I think so,” Shiro said. He was itching to play with Keith’s soft bangs. He also hadn’t considered that the unfamiliarity of the facility would bother him, so now he had one more worry on his mind. Touching Keith’s hair would calm him down, right? His lips looked really soft, too...

(What was that about taming his gay?)

Shiro cleared his throat and averted his eyes. “I’m more worried about getting there, though. That much driving will be rough. And the crowds. I’m really worried about the crowds.”

“That’s fair,” Keith said, nodding his head. “These things are always crowded. We’ll get rooms as close as possible so you can duck out whenever you need.”

Shiro had so much he wanted to say--that Keith was amazing, that he didn’t have to go to this much trouble just for Shiro, that he was kind and supportive and Shiro didn’t think he understood how much it meant to him, and that he was so, so cute. Fuck. So cute. 

“I think I’m going to be alright,” Shiro said, and in that moment, he meant it.

  
  


~*~*~

  
  


Shiro sat in the backseat, driver’s side. It was the exact opposite of where he’d been during the accident that cost him his arm and both his parents, and so it was the one he handled the best. He’d spoken to his doctor and gotten a refill of his meds (which yes, he was now taking regularly, thanks Matt) and he’d been working out and eating right and doing all of the Things That Give Serotonin, so he was mildly optimistic. The only thing that really worried him was driving on the freeway, but Keith had come up with a perfect plan: noise-cancelling headphones and a movie. 

“Here,” Keith said, handing him a pair. He had a split jack plugged in so he could listen, too, and once he had his laptop arranged to his liking, he all but crawled into Shiro’s lap.

“Can you see it okay?” Keith said. 

Shiro’s eyes were wide as he nodded, and Keith smiled up at him before starting the movie.

(What if he’d said “no”? How close would Keith had gotten?)

Matt started the car and Shiro stiffened in his seat. He couldn’t help it. The rumble of an engine always made him nervous. Keith reached out and squeezed his knee. Shiro appreciated the comforting gesture, but it didn’t help calm him down--especially since Keith kept his hand there. Well, it was certainly a distraction from the road. 

Between the movie (and its sequel) and Keith’s hand (which occasionally rubbed his thigh gently, what the actual fuck, were the gods testing him?), Shiro made it the entire four hour drive without panicking. His muscles were so stiff he felt like they might start spasming at any given second, and his stomach was rolling about in lengthy bouts of nausea, but he hadn’t  _ panicked _ . If he’d had more presence of mind, he’d probably have been proud of himself.

“Alright, Matt and everyone will get started with getting checked in,” Keith said, helping Shiro out of the van. “Let’s stretch our legs for a minute first, yeah?”

Keith was a fucking gentleman, taking Shiro’s hand as he stepped out of the van, and Shiro had a moment of being an Austen heroine escorted down from a carriage after a near-fainting spell. 

He might have loved it.

“The convention hall is just over there,” Keith said, pointing to a large building down the street before turning back to the hotel, “and here is the hotel’s restaurant--or more importantly, the closest place with alcohol.”

Shiro chuckled. “I don’t need any alcohol before noon, thanks.”

“Why else do you think God made mimosas?” Keith grinned. “You could always get a virgin one, or do you like things a little sluttiery?” 

There was mischief in Keith’s voice and he had his lips curled Just So and he was looking up at Shiro from under impossibly long lashes, and it was devastating. Shiro had never had fewer comeback lines. 

“I like orange juice.” 

Keith arched an eyebrow. “Well, that’s one of two ingredients down. Virgin it is.” He turned and flounced through the restaurant and up to the bar, and then he leaned across it in a way that jutted his ass out and made Shiro’s fizzling brain cells dissolve entirely.

“Could I get two virgin mimosas?” Keith asked the barkeep. 

Shiro spluttered in the background. The barkeep looked between the two of them, shrugged, and served up something. Keith returned victoriously ladened with beverages and gave Shiro a wink as he handed one over.

“Your virgin, sir,” he said, “and me.” 

Shiro spluttered some more and joined Keith in sliding into a free booth. “Can’t believe you just ordered that,” he mumbled.

Keith laughed his lovely, smokey laugh and raised his glass. “Hey, he made something. Let’s give it a sip.”

It was orange juice, ginger ale, and grenadine, and Shiro liked it. 

“I thought I was being a snarky ass and then he went and made something delicious,” Keith said sulkily, taking long sips.

“He’s customer service at a nice hotel. He’s used to dealing with dumb requests,” Shiro pointed out, “and I would have expected you to have more respect for the service class, Mr. Delivery Boy.”

“Well, it got you to smile, didn’t it?” Keith said, taking another sip.

Jesus. Keith just had to keep knocking him off his feet at every opportunity, didn’t he. 

“Seriously, though--you look like you’re doing better,” Keith said. “We’ll have the rooms in a few minutes and then you can get in a hot shower, big guy. Let the steam loosen you up.”

(Big guy? Jesus.)

“Aren’t you two supposed to be stretching your legs?” Lance said, walking up. “Oh sweet--mimosas!” He reached for Keith’s and got his hand smacked for his troubles. “Fine then, don’t share. I was going to sleep on the floor, but I guess that’s for you tonight, buddy.”

“Why would either of us sleep on the floor?” Keith frowned.

There had been a mixup at some point, possibly on the hotel’s end, but somehow the room that Keith, Hunk, and Lance had requested (two queens) was not the one they had gotten (two singles). Either way, they were only going to charge them for two people as an apology, but it did still end up with one of them on the floor. The sacred rules of rock, paper, scissors had put Keith and Lance sharing a bed originally, which was how Hunk had ended up with a guaranteed single bed. Now Lance and Keith had to decide who got the floor and for which night. 

“Matt and I are sharing a queen or I’d invite one of you guys,” Pidge said sympathetically. “I mean, you can still come sleep on our floor, but I’ll warn you: Matt snores.” 

“Lance snores,” Keith shrugged. 

“Hey!” Lance said. “Meanie. You’re out of the room.” He stuck his tongue out.

There was an opportunity here. A big one. One that he probably shouldn’t take. One that Matt was definitely thinking about and giving some not so subtle hand signals to show his opinion on. 

Shiro cleared his throat.

“Y-you could always stay in my room, Keith. I’ve only got the one bed, but it’s a king,” he said. 

Matt immediately slung his arm around Shiro’s neck. “Check out this generous guy! Mr. King-Sized,” he declared, with a little more emphasis than Shiro liked. “And I know from experience he doesn’t snore.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Keith said hesitantly. “A bed would be nice, but I know you need your space, and I’m going to be spending a lot of time in the bathroom. Getting ready! A lot of time getting my cosplay ready,” he clarified quickly.

Shiro smiled (and just fucking knew his cheeks were blushing). “It’s fine, Keith. I don’t care if you’re a bathroom hog. You and your bowel issues can stay in my room.”

(Regretting that one. Very smooth. Such flirt.)

Keith laughed, though, so everything was fine. “Alright, I concede. If you think you can handle it, I’ll sleep with you, Shirogane.”

(OH SHIT.)

“ _ Damn _ , son, that was good,” Lance said, whacking Keith on the back. 

“Yes, delightful,” Pidge said, rolling her eyes. “Now stop flirting and get your bags out of the van so Matt can park it. It’s in an unloading zone. No, you do  _ not  _ stick your tongue out at me, young man. Matt’s gotta go help with lights and everyone needs to get dressed. Now, scoot.”

  
  


~*~*~

  
  


Shiro really had thought he’d been doing quite well, but then he promptly crashed once he made it to his room, napping for three hours straight. He woke up to Keith gently patting his arm, asking him if he wanted to go with them or if he wanted to sleep more.

It took him a full ten seconds to realize he was not still dreaming.

Keith. Looked.  _ Stunning _ .

And like Akira. Jesus fuck he was cosplaying as Akira, complete with fantastic make up and unbearably tight space suit. 

“You look good,” Shiro gasped. 

“Thanks, the make up was a pain,” Keith said, eyes doing the happy crinkle that always made Shiro melt. “How does the wig look? I’m pretty happy with it, which is kinda unusual for me,” he laughed softly.

“Keith, this is incredible,” Shiro said, sitting up and openly staring. “Did you make all this?”

“Most of this was Lance, actually, but I helped. He did all the detail work for everyone, but I did the weapons. Here--check out my luxite blade.”

Keith handed over his blade, unabashedly proud, and it was such a good look on him. Shiro could never quite handle a confident Keith, and this time was no exception. 

“It’s g-great,” Shiro stammered. “It looks like it could have been a prop.”

“A prop would be made of something a little heavier than styrofoam, but thanks,” Keith said, eyes still crinkling. “The rest of us are planning to head over. Are you wanting to come, too?”

As if Shiro was possibly going to let Akira!Keith out of his sight.

“Yup, I’m ready. Let’s go.”

  
  


~*~*~

  
  


The line to get registered wasn't terribly long, but Shiro was getting anxious anyway: too many people were looking at his arm. He shouldn’t have slept with it attached, but he’d been really tired when they checked in, so he hadn’t bothered taking it off. Now his arm was protesting the position he’d slept in, so he kept rubbing at where the metal met his skin, and that just brought more attention to an already attention-grabbing prosthetic.

“Does your arm hurt?” Keith asked, because of course he noticed and was concerned.

“Yeah,” Shiro admitted sheepishly, and he explained the situation.

“Oh wow, I didn’t realize it came off,” Keith said, sounding genuinely interested. 

“It needs to charge every night,” Shiro said. “I’ve got a little station for it that makes up too much of my electric bill.” 

“Is it rude if I call it badass?” Lance chimed in. “I’ve always thought it looked badass.”

“Well, it’s cutting edge technology, so I guess that’s pretty badass?” Shiro offered. “I’d say Matt’s the badass one, though, because he helped with some of the design.”

“Oh no way,” Lance said. “Hey Pidge--you’re brother’s a badass.”

“Damn straight,” Pidge said, turning around to join the conversation. “Runs in the family.” 

Having his friends distract him helped immensely, and Shiro was nearly at ease again when a girl approached him.

“Excuse me,” she said, “but your costume is really amazing. Who are you cosplaying as?”

Shiro’s heart dropped into his gut. He had no words. He glanced at the scar on Keith’s cheek--beautifully done, utterly realistic--and found he had never been more ashamed to admit that his face simply was that damaged. 

“Hey,” Keith growled. “Why don’t yo--”

“Um, he’s Captain Sven? Obviously??” Lance said, rolling his eyes. “Get your nerd badge checked.”

That was rude on Lance’s part, but it was also probably a lot nicer than whatever Keith was going to say, and Shiro was grateful to both of them.

“Wow, okay,” the girl said, obviously insulted. “Sorry for asking a question.”

“Yup,” Lance drawled. “Move along.”

The girl rejoined her friends, grumbling them about how rude Lance had been (which was honestly quite fair).

“Um, sorry if that was the wrong thing to say,” Lance said, turning back to Shiro. 

“No, um, thank you, actually,” Shiro said, unconsciously covering his arm. “I kinda froze.” Fuck. He really should have brought his gloves with him and some long-sleeved shirts. Who cares how hot it was outside! People were in insane costumes--no one would have questioned it. “Maybe I should just keep being Captain Sven,” he said, laughing stiffly.

“If you do, I’ll help you come up with a backstory,” Lance said. “We can make it some show from the 80s or something--make you an awesome cyborg.”

“Yeah, that would be fine,” Shiro said with a faint smile. “It’s better than saying ‘I’m car crash victim number 3’.” 

“Fuck it. Tell them that, if you want to. Maybe they’ll think twice before asking someone that kind of thing in the future,” Lance said, crossing his arms.

Hunk, who had been in the bathroom and only witnessed the tail end of the conversation, gently pointed out that this was a convention with an emphasis on cosplay. “Maybe you could do make up for Shiro later, if he wants…?” he suggested. 

Holy shit. Make up. These guys were great with realistic scars--they could probably help him cover his own. 

“I’ll...think about it,” Shiro faltered. He’d never considered the possibility. He could blend in. He could look normal. 

“Hey man, you look great as you are,” Lance said firmly. “We can all help with make up if you want, but you got nothing to hide.”

“Um, I kind of have a lot of things to hide,” Shiro chuckled nervously. He made a vague gesture at his face. “Some of it is front and center.”

Lance frowned and looked around between the group. “Wait a second--does Shiro not know he’s hot?” 

(Shiro’s cheeks felt hot, but that was about it.)

“Shut up, Lance,” Keith warned. 

“No, hold on, this is important--does Shiro seriously not know he’s hot?! Shiro, you’re a fucking Adonis! You’ve got a jaw to make Olympians weep! Your biceps would make Narcissus look up from his mirror!”

“Well, I guess someone passed his Classic Literature course,” Pidge said, “but maybe shut up.”

“ _ Lance _ ,” Keith growled.

“Guys, it’s fine,” Shiro said, feeling very much not fine. 

“I saw someone in a No Face cosplay giving out chocolate gold coins earlier,” Hunk said, perhaps a little too loudly. Shiro could have kissed him. 

“That’s really cool. I love interactive cosplays,” Pidge said. Shiro could have kissed her, too.

Everyone not-so-subtly stared at Lance. 

“If I was going to do an interactive cosplay, I’d want to be Jaskier. I’d play a lute around every Witcher I saw and ask people to toss coins,” he said. He then folded his arms and raised his chin. 

“Ugh, you’d need to learn to play the lute for that. Too much commitment,” Pidge said, wrinkling her nose. 

“Says the girl who programmed timed lights to spell out shit for her Christmas light wall from Stranger Things!” Lance shot back. 

“I’ve already  _ forgotten  _ more about electronics and programming than you’ll ever know,” Pidge scoffed. “What do you know about lutes?”

“I can play the guitar. It can’t be that much work to learn a lute.”

“What?! Since when can you play guitar?” Pidge squawked. 

The conversation now thoroughly diverted, Shiro breathed a sigh of relief. He could not deal with that level of scrutiny from that many people, even if they were his friends and he appreciated what they were trying to say.

“Hey, hold our spots for a few minutes, yeah?” Keith said. He took Shiro by the elbow and gently guided him to a quieter hall. “You doing okay?” he asked.

Shiro took a deep breath and let it out slowly, slumped against the wall, and sank to the floor--because he wasn't dramatic, that’s why. “I’m okay.”

Keith sank down next to him. “Alright,” he said.

They sat quietly together for a few minutes, the noise of the convention muted and distant. Finally, Shiro sighed.

“I think I’m good to go back now.”

“It’s alright if you aren’t--I can walk you back to the room. I don’t mind,” Keith offered.

Shiro shook his head. “No, I want to at least get properly checked in, maybe start going through the artist alley.”

“Alright,” Keith said, simply accepting him at his word. He stood up and offered Shiro his hand--his right hand, meaning that he would touch Shiro’s mechanical arm. That meant more to Shiro than he could express in that moment.

“Thanks,” he said, voice tight, as he stood up.

“You know, for the record,” Keith said, not quite meeting Shiro’s eyes, “you  _ are  _ hot.”

Shiro nearly had to sit back down. “A hot mess, maybe,” he laughed feebly. 

Keith gave him a playful nudge with his shoulder, his ears pink. “Take a compliment, big guy.”

Shiro nudged him back. “Thanks,” he said. 

Fuck, he was probably blushing hard enough to hide his scar. Jesus. Keith thought he was hot.  _ Keith  _ thought he was  _ hot _ . This was more than his overtaxed gay heart could handle in a moment of stress--especially not when Keith was wearing spandex. Fuuuuuck. How had he forgotten Keith was wearing spandex? 

Keith turned to lead the way back into the convention and Shiro’s eyes followed down the sweep of his body, lingering far longer than was polite on the perfect swell of Keith’s ass. Jesus fuck. He could say prayers to that ass. 

Having successfully swapped out one mode of disaster for another, Shiro obediently followed Keith back into the hall and tried not to think too hard on the compliment or the way “big guy” sounded on Keith’s tongue.

  
  


~*~*~

  
  


In the end, Shiro decided to go with Lance’s suggestion and pretend he was cosplaying. There was something fun about claiming to be Captain Sven (from the old comics, not the new ones) and seeing how many people fell for it (most of them). He still didn’t like being approached by tons of strangers--especially since many of them wanted to touch his arm--but it was gratifying to watch how Keith bristled at them and did everything but step in between them. He had a bodyguard, defending his honor.

Another Austen moment. Excellent.

A few people asked to take photographs, and Shiro declined. Keith noticed one person trying to sneak photos anyway, and it  _ did  _ things to Shiro to watch Keith go into protection mode--especially since Keith was dressed as Akira. Holy gay gods. He was so lithe and deadly in that costume, and it completely fit the character, and maybe Shiro had always had a thing for Akira. As uncomfortable as he was with the attention, it was completely worth it for moments like  _ that _ .

Still, it did end up getting to be too much for him, and Shiro excused himself early. It took a ridiculous amount of convincing to get Keith to stay at the con, but in the end he walked himself “home”. Once safe in the room, he took his arm off and flopped on the bed with a grateful sigh.

He did it.

He actually did it. 

He had gone out in public, rode for four hours in a car, hung out with tons of strangers, had people try to touch his arm, and he’d done it all without an actual panic attack.

He was  _ better _ .

He wasn't well by any stretch, but he was better, and the pride that filled his heart didn’t feel out of place.

  
  


~*~*~

  
  


“Hey, brought you some pizza,” Keith announced when he entered their room. 

“Do I owe you a tip?” Shiro asked with a grin. He’d long since showered and changed into soft pajamas, his arm safely charging. It was only as Keith brought the food to the bed that he realized this was the first time Keith had seen him with only one arm (and it would, of course, be while Keith was dressed as Akira). This also meant he was about to eat left-handed. Whatever. He’d done that for almost a year before he got his first arm.

Keith laughed softly as he sat down on the opposite side of the bed. “Not today.” He popped open the box and set it between them, and they fell into their usual ritual of food and TV.

Shiro wanted to do this every fucking day.

It was kinda hard not to just say it.

(Keith thinks you’re hot, his mind reminded him.)

(You’re doing so much better, his heart encouraged.)

(His ass gives you life, his dick piped up.)

“I’m gonna take a shower and get all this makeup off,” Keith announced. “You can finish off the pizza if you want.”

“Thanks,” Shiro said, immediately deciding to eat his feelings. He let himself break all his diet rules (muscles require multi-part maintenance) and stuff as many slices into his face as he wanted, very nearly killing himself in the process when, two minutes later, he choked violently upon the appearance of Keith-in-only-a-towel.

“Forgot my stuff out here,” Keith said sheepishly. He walked across the room to his suitcase, rooted around in it, grabbed his pajamas, and ducked back into the bathroom. 

His towel. Had been.  _ So  _ low.

Once recovered from pizza death, Shiro tossed the box aside and tried very hard to focus on the television instead of the fact that Keith was now naked and wet and only one wall away. His half chub persisted despite his best efforts, and Shiro decided to just get under the covers and hide it. An eternity later, Keith emerged, towel now around his neck to catch the last drops of moisture still clinging to his hair. He was in boxers and a t-shirt and Shiro wanted him to pull him to his chest and breathe in the scent of his shampoo.

“Lights out?” Keith asked, teasing gently. “Isn’t this like, four hours early for you?”

“I only stay up late on delivery nights,” Shiro said honestly. He scooted over to make room as Keith crawled under the covers. Jesus. His heart was pounding. 

Keith chuckled. “Well, I’m a college student with wild hours, so I think I’ll be on my phone for a while. Will that bother you?”

“Not at all,” Shiro said, turning off the TV. “My arm charger always gives off a bit of light, so I’m used to it.” He paused. “Will that bother you?”

“Nope. Do you… do you mind if I look at it?” 

In response, Shiro slid out of bed, grabbed his arm, and handed it over. “Have at. You can’t hurt it.”

Keith picked it up curiously and turned it around, examining it. “It’s heavier than I thought,” he said. “I figured they’d make it lightweight so it wouldn’t wear on your shoulder.”

“Yeah, it hurts some,” Shiro admitted. “It’s better than a phantom limb, though, that’s for damn sure.”

Keith looked pained but said nothing, and Shiro wished he’d kept his mouth shut.

“It’s really not that bad,” he promised, “and it’s better now that I’m working out. Plus, they’re designing another model.”

“That’s cool. Will it have new features or something?”

“Sadly, no rocket launcher, but I did ask. Next time, maybe,” Shiro said, crossing his fingers. “It will have a longer battery life, though, and that’s great, and it’ll be lighter. The main thing is they’ll change out the connecting port, which means another surgery,” he sighed. 

Keith sat with the arm in his lap, no longer examining it with the same eager curiosity. Instead, he was stroking his fingers over it, almost wistfully, and Shiro wished he had it attached. He wanted to feel that gentleness. He wanted to know that Keith accepted that part of him.

“Do you want to see how it goes on?” he asked. 

Keith blinked, coming back to himself. “Sure, if it doesn’t hurt.”

“I’m used to it. It mostly just feels weird now,” Shiro said, taking the arm and lining it up. It clicked in with a hiss before rotating into place.

“Trippy!” Keith said. The arm had to be nearly backwards to be put on.

“Yeah, that’s why it’s weird,” Shiro laughed. “Never had that much flexibility before.”

“You’re really natural with it,” Keith said. “I’ve never seen you drop anything. Did you have to do physical therapy for that?”

“Ugh. Yes.  _ So  _ much,” Shiro said. “Pretty sure they could build a new hospital wing from all the hours they billed my insurance.”

Keith chuckled and, to Shiro’s infinite delight, ran his fingers down Shiro’s forearm. “Can you feel that?”

“Yeah,” Shiro said. Fuck. Did he sound breathy?

“Oh, good,” Keith mumbled, blushing slightly and pulling away. “I was just wondering if you could  _ feel  _ with it to pick stuff up or if you were just that good at manipulating it.”

“It’s fine. You can keep touching me--it!--you can keep touching it. I don’t mind,” Shiro said. 

Keith bit his lip as he ran his fingers lightly down the inside of Shiro’s arm. It was just a caress--gentle and sweet--but his eyes hinted at something Shiro was desperate not too read into. He stroked over Shiro’s hand, leather-light, before settling the tips of his fingers on his wrist.

“Can you feel that?” Keith whispered.

It would just take inches to lean forward and take his lips in Shiro’s own. 

“Yes,” Shiro whispered back.

Keith’s fingers encircled his wrist and guided his hand up to rest against his cheek. “It’s warm,” he said. “It’s nice.”

Shiro swallowed hard. He wasn't misreading this. He  _ couldn’t  _ be misreading this. Keith wasn't dumb. He had to know what this looked like. He wouldn’t lead Shiro on. But… But if Shiro was wrong, Keith would be uncomfortable. They were sharing the same room, the same  _ bed _ . Shiro didn’t want to want to kick him out of bed, and there was no way Keith would let Shiro be the one to sleep on the floor. 

He brushed his fingers over Keith’s cheek and pulled away regretfully.

“I should go to sleep.”

“Oh. Right. Of course,” Keith said awkwardly. He looked confused, and Shiro couldn’t blame him. “Sorry. Thanks for letting me see it.” 

“No problem,” Shiro said, unhooking his arm. He set it in its charger and settled back in bed. “Goodnight, Keith.”

“Goodnight, Shiro,” Keith said softly.

Shiro lay awake, listening to the quiet noise of Keith’s breathing, and tried not to regret anything.

  
  


~*~*~

  
  


The air between them was off the next morning. It wasn't exactly bad, but it was...weird. It felt like they were a half-step out of sync, each almost-but-not-quite over correcting for the other. Compared to their usually fluid interactions, it was uncomfortable. Naturally, everyone noticed, and what was somehow worse: they didn’t say anything about it.

Keith was still protective of him when strangers wanted to see his arm or, in two separate cases, ask how he got his scars so realistic, but other than that he kept himself at a bit of a distance. Shiro tried not to let it bother him. It was his doing, after all. He’d just have to bear with it until there was an opportunity to fix it.

“Guuuuys we need to get in line!!” Pidge said, hustling everyone toward one of the panel rooms. She didn’t need to worry about them dragging their feet: there was no way in hell any of them were missing the _ Legendary Defender _ panel. 

“Do you want to wait somewhere else?” Keith asked, stepping a little closer to Shiro.

“Yeah!” Lance piped up. “We’ll send Keith to go fetch you! Or he could go with you, I mean,” he added hurried. “Whatever you want.” 

“It’s fine; I can go by myself,” Shiro smiled. Keith could probably use a break from him. “I’ll just go for a quick walk, get some air. I’ll be back soon,” he promised.

As he walked away, Shiro reflected on how a few short months ago, walking outside for fresh air would have literally made him worse. Now, though, he could enjoy some sunlight and come to the conclusion that it was too fucking hot out, and let himself be welcomed back into the sweet embrace of air conditioning. He wandered back through the building and decided on looking through the artist alley. Maybe he could find a peace offering of sorts for Keith. 

There was a lot of  _ Legendary Defender  _ merchandise. A  _ lot  _ of it. People were definitely cashing in on the excitement around the panel and, while it was awesome to have selection, Shiro was beginning to feel overwhelmed by the volume of choice. It didn’t help that he felt guilty for looking without purchasing. Maybe he should just grab something at random. Keith would appreciate it, no matter what it was.

No.

He wanted to ask Keith out, didn’t he? That meant putting in the effort to find a gift he  _ knew  _ his friend would enjoy. Shiro set his jaw and determined to comb the aisles for exactly the perfect gift. Keith deserved it.

He knew it the second he saw it--an overstuffed plushie version of the space wolf that accompanied Akira on missions. It was adorable, and Keith was in his devastating costume again today. The was no question. He needed that plushie. Only one problem--

“Excuse me,” Shiro said, “where did you get that plushie?”

The person holding the toy, a tall, attractive man, turned around with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I grabbed the last one.”

“How much?”

“It was $50, but like I said, this was the last one.”

Shiro shook his head. “No, how much would it cost to buy it from you?”

The man paused and gave Shiro a considering look. “How much is it worth to you?”

“Anything. $100. $200. I don’t care. Please, it’s for someone important. I know they’d really love it,” Shiro said desperately.

“$50 would be fine,” the man said, waving his hand and giving Shiro a cocky smile, “if you sweeten the deal with a kiss.” 

That was...unexpected. “$100 without the kiss?” he asked hesitantly. 

“$50 with a kiss, or free with your number,” the man winked. 

Fuck it. The guy wasn't giving off a creepy aura or anything--it was casual flirting--and a peck on the lips was worth the perfect gift. If the guy pulled tongue he’d get a fist to the face (and probably another $50 to not call the police).

“$50 it is,” Shiro said, reaching for his wallet and grabbing the cash.

The man laughed. “Must be someone special. Good for you.”

He took the money, handed over the plushie, and did seem perfectly satisfied with the quick peck. 

“Thanks,” Shiro said, clutching the plushie to his chest and turning around, only to find Keith staring at him with a blank face.

“They’re letting people in now,” Keith said, voice emotionless.

Oh. Oh  _ fuck _ .

“Keith--” Shiro said, but he had already turned around and was walking away rapidly. 

“Oh shit, was that your boyfriend?” the man said, horrified. “Did I seriously just help you cheat on your  _ boyfriend _ ?”

“No--shit--he’s not my--fuck,” Shiro said. “Um, thanks. Bye.”

The man might have called out an apology, but Shiro didn’t stick around to find out.

Fucking hell. Shiro had never cheated--never even  _ considered  _ cheating--in his whole damn life, and then this happened. It wasn't like they were dating. It wasn't like the kiss meant anything or even  _ was  _ anything, but that wasn't the point. The look Keith gave him made him feel two inches tall. 

He’d hurt Keith. That was the point.

“Keith! Wait, please!” Shiro cried, rushing after him in the crowd. 

Keith stopped short and ran his hand quickly over his face before looking back at Shiro.

“Hey. You ready for the panel?” he asked with a smile that made Shiro’s heart clench.

“This was--is--for you,” Shiro said, holding out the plushie. “He got the last one. And that was what he wanted for it. Sorry.”

Keith’s eyes darted from the toy to Shiro’s face and back to the toy. He reached out carefully and took it, tucking it up under his arm. “Thanks,” he said, but he didn’t sound too happy. “Come on. I don’t know how long they’ll let Lance hold the seats.”

Heart on the floor, Shiro followed him into the panel.

  
  


~*~*~

  
  


Keith didn’t sit next to him. 

Pidge did, and she was fun and lively and maybe trying a little too hard to keep his attention. Shiro was still glad he was there and still excited about the panel, but he couldn’t help sneaking glances over to Keith. He was gripping the wolf pretty hard. Shiro hoped that was a good sign.

The panel started, and it wasn't long before Lance completely lost it. Allura Alforson walked out as a surprise guest to announce that yes, there was a reboot in the works, and that she was going to be starring in the main role. The previous versions had all had male leads, and Lance’s screaming cheers and wild applause were met with a blushing grin from the actress and drowned out any unhappy fanboys that tried voicing their misogynistic opinions. 

Pidge and Hunk were (thankfully) able to wrangle him down and get him quiet enough to keep from getting kicked out, and overall the panel was a huge success. One of the showrunners even gave a shout out to “all the amazing cosplays--especially that Akira in the third row”, and Shiro was  _ almost  _ cheered up by the time it ended. 

He excused himself and went back to the hotel immediately after. He was a little hurt but not surprised when Keith didn’t join him. 

  
  


~*~*~

  
  


A knock on the room door pulled Shiro from his TV-induced stupor. A small part of him hoped it would be Keith, and he tried not to let his disappointment show when opening the door revealed Hunk.

“We’re all going to eat in the hotel restaurant. You wanna join us?” he offered.

After a moment’s hesitation, Shiro decided that he did want to go. It would give Keith an opportunity to be in the room alone if nothing else, and he probably should eat super.

“Shiiiro,” Keith called the moment they entered the restaurant, waving at them and patting the seat beside him.

Shiro looked at Hunk and raised his eyebrows.

“Sorry,” Hunk whispered. “We wanted to wait to get you until after we had a table, and Keith’s been at the bar the whole time, and well…” He gestured with a helpless shrug.

“Shiiiro,” Keith called again, this time using the wolf (that he still had with him!) to wave and beckon Shiro over. 

“So,” Shiro said as he sat down next to him, “this one isn’t ginger ale, I take it.” He nodded toward Keith’s glass.

Keith giggled. “Nope. Not a virgin~~”

“Jesus H. Christ,” Lance muttered.

“I ordered your food,” Keith continued, “because  _ I _ know what you  _ like _ .”

“Oh my god,” Pidge said. She had her phone out, and glanced up at Shiro’s disapproving glare. “What? Matt’s not back yet. He’ll be sad he missed this.”

“I’m not ashamed,” Keith said, lifting his chin. “I am  _ not  _ ashamed--to admit--that I. Love.” He paused and pinned Shiro with a level gaze. “This wolf.” He buried his face in the plushie and squealed. 

Pidge laughed, Hunk visibly cringed, and Lance smacked his forehead.

Shiro was in love.

“Yeah?” he asked softly. “It’s okay?”

“It,” Keith said seriously, “is the best.”

Shiro was hopelessly charmed and infinitely encouraged. He wasn't sure if he was out of the doghouse, but at least Keith liked the plushie.

The food arrived and Keith was momentarily distracted. Shiro noted that while everyone else had taken off their costumes, Keith had only removed his makeup. He apparently hadn’t wanted to go in their room. Shiro wondered if that was a bad sign.

Keith abruptly stood up. He handed Shiro his plushie solemnly. “I am going to practice,” he announced. He patted the wolf on the head. “Stay,” he said softly.

With that, Keith sauntered over to the bar, swinging his hips with far more grace than his inebriated state should allow, and slid his fingers down the arm of a surprised man.

“Hey,” he said, lashes fluttering and voice smokey, “if I invited you to my room, would you say yes?”

The stranger gave Keith a quick once over and licked his lips. “If you invited me, I would definitely say yes.”

Keith threw back his head with happy laugh. “Maybe I will. See ya, sailor.” He sauntered back over to Shiro and picked up his plushie. “Good boy,” he whispered to the toy.

“Alright, I’m calling it,” Hunk announced. “Someone needs to wrangle him.”

“Seconded,” Pidge said.

“And the motion is carried!” Lance cried. “Have fun getting him into the elevator, Shiro.”

Shiro thought about asking why he was the one in charge, but he knew why. Plus, he was not willing to let Keith hit on anyone else. They might not be dating, but it was  _ his  _ room Keith was offering, after all, and he didn’t think Keith was in a state to consent to anything.

“Come on, Keith,” he said, standing up and tugging on his arm. 

Keith dutifully stood up, grinned, and then sagged against Shiro. “Oh no, I can’t walk,” Keith exclaimed, going limp and forcing Shiro to catch him. He snickered into Shiro’s chest, clearly very pleased with himself.

Fuck it.

Shiro picked him up and slung him over his shoulder. Keith giggled gleefully and patted around Shiro’s lower back, giving Shiro the distinct impression he was attempting to grope his ass. Wonderful. 

Shiro blushed hard as he hauled Keith through the lobby to the elevators and eventually down the hall to their room. Keith laughed and protested the entire time.

“Why, Mr. Shirogane, I do declare!” he said in a fake Southern drawl. “You have me in an  _ indecent  _ position! You’ll sully my honor! What shall the neighbors think?”

“How the hell are you not slurring your speech when you’re this sloshed?” Shiro asked, mostly to himself.

Keith deigned to stand on his own when Shiro set him down outside their door so he could get the card key out of his pocket and open it. Once able to go inside, Keith skittered in and jumped on the bed with a happy cry. He curled around his wolf and petted its ears.

“Shiro?”

“Yeah?” Shiro asked, walking to the bed and sitting on the corner, contemplating if Keith would need a trashcan to barf in later.

“I’m hot.”

Shiro tried not to laugh. “You are.”

“Like, really really hot.”

“I know,” Shiro said fondly. God, drunk Keith was adorable. 

Keith sat up, suddenly inches away from Shiro’s face. “We are gonna fuck or what?”

Holy shit he went from cute to crazy in 0.02 seconds. 

“Keith, sweetheart, you’re drunk,” Shiro said gently, catching Keith’s arms as they tried to reach around him. 

“Uh huh,” Keith agreed, eyes glazing over as he stared at Shiro’s lips. 

“You’re too drunk for me to have sex with you.” You sexy little fiend. Don’t tell me these things while in spandex and on my bed, dammit.

“Booooo,” Keith pouted, flopping back down. “I wanted to kiss you.” He hiccuped. “Help me shower?”

Oh god.

Shiro did gamely help Keith to the shower because he was pretty sure 1) Keith couldn’t manage his costume’s zipper on his own and 2) he would forget his clothes in the room again. Once the wobbly boy was properly disposed of, Shiro went back to the bed and sat down.

What the hell was he going to do with a handsy, drunk Keith? He didn’t  _ think  _ Keith would actually keep trying anything with him--not more than some teasing, at least--but wow. He was definitely a horny drunk. He hoped Keith had someone to help “wrangle” him at college parties. He also found himself jealous. Keith had wanted (maybe?) to invite someone to their room. He was fairly certain it had just been Keith trying to provoke him, but, well, it had worked. Shiro  _ hated  _ watching Keith hit on someone, real or not.

Shiro picked up the stuffed wolf and looked at it. “Are you worth all the fuss?” he asked. The beady eyes told him nothing, but it was a cute toy and Keith claimed to love it. Hopefully that meant things were still okay. 

Hopefully.

With Keith still in the shower, Shiro took the time to change and put his arm in its charger. He had a feeling Keith would be willing to go to sleep if Shiro made it clear that’s what he intended to do. And, sure enough, when Keith emerged from the bathroom he took one look at Shiro, cocked his head, and said “Bedtime?”

“Bedtime,” Shiro said firmly, flipping back the covers for Keith. 

Keith dutifully crawled in and cuddled up to his wolf. “Thank you, Shiro. I love him,” he said through a yawn. 

Shiro’s heart clenched. “I’m glad.”

He turned out the lamp and laid down next to Keith. “You think you’re okay to sleep now? Not nauseous or anything?” he said, wanting to make sure before he fell asleep.

“‘m fine,” Keith mumbled. He scooted closer, yawned, and gave Shiro a peck on the cheek. “Told you wanted to kiss you,” he said, and promptly started to snore.

Shiro didn’t know if he could handle it if they weren’t okay in the morning.

  
  


~*~*~

  
  


Keith wasn't in bed when Shiro woke up. He also wasn't in the bathroom. Shiro checked his phone and saw it was barely seven and that he had no new text messages.

Fuck.

**Shiro: Are you okay? Where are you?**

He quickly attached his arm and put on his clothes, worried (as if Keith could possibly have gotten himself into any real trouble when he’d left his suitcase and belongings in Shiro’s room). 

**Keith: just went for tylenol. back soon**

Shiro sighed in relief. Poor kid probably needed it. Maybe if Keith was feeling up to it, he’d let Shiro treat him to some greasy breakfast foods downstairs. He kept his fingers crossed that everything was still okay between them. The look Keith gave him when he finally reentered the room crushed that hope to nothing.

“Hi,” Keith said, voice scratchy and eyes red. He had definitely been crying. 

“Hey,” Shiro said, mouth dry. “Are you feeling okay?”

“No,” Keith said. His eyes got brighter and he rubbed at them. “Can I sit down?”

Shiro immediately made room for him and Keith sat down beside him, fists in his lap. Keith took a deep, shaky breath.

“I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have treated you like that.”

“Like what?” Shiro asked, puzzled. “You were a handsy drunk, but that’s fine.”

“Not just that,” Keith cringed, “and that’s not fine, either. Dammit. I’ve been trying to take things slow with you, and I rushed you Friday night and then I was stupid yesterday and then I was practically groping you when I was drunk, and I’m really, really sorry. You deserve a lot better.”

Shiro blinked twice. Keith had just said a lot, but there was one phrase in particular that was screaming incoherently around his brain. “You’ve...been trying to...take things slow? With me??”

“Well, yeah,” Keith blushed. “If all I wanted was in your pants, I could have done that the first day, big guy,” Keith said, giving Shiro a little nudge with his knee. 

That was stupidly true, and Shiro was more than a little mortified it had been that obvious.

“I like you, Shiro,” Keith said softly. “I’ve liked you ever since the day I crashed my bike. You were terrified but you still came to help me, an almost complete stranger, and it was incredible. I realized you were the kindest, bravest person I’d ever met, and then you were also this hilarious nerd who knew how to wrap ankles and couldn’t handle flirting, and I’ve been after you ever since. I mean, I’ve genuinely been your friend, too, but… You blow me away. I know you’re not ready for anything and I made you uncomfortable and then I got so stupidly jealous when we’re not dating and you were clearly doing nothing wrong--and I  _ do  _ love the wolf; he’s perfect--and I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay to be jealous,” Shiro promised quickly. “I was jealous when you invited that guy to our room last night.”

Keith’s eyes widened. “I did what?”

“You called it practice. Pidge got it on video,” Shiro said. He knew he should be addressing the other parts of Keith’s speech but his heart was pounding like crazy and he could barely hear himself think. 

Keith liked him. Keith had been trying to pursue him since the beginning of their friendship. Keith thought he was  _ brave _ .

“Oh god. Please tell me she didn’t send it to anyone,” Keith groaned and hid his face in his hands. “She’s gonna use that as blackmail for sure.”

“Hey,” Shiro said softly. He reached out and took Keith’s hand. Keith looked at him with round, wonder-filled eyes, and Shiro promptly forgot what he was going to say. Luckily, this did not deter Keith, who after he noticed Shiro had stuttered out, simply smiled and kissed his hand. 

“Tell me whatever you want to when you’re ready,” he said.

Shiro had a thousand things to say, and not a single word in his head. So, he took Keith’s head in his hands and kissed him instead.

Keith made a soft sound of surprise against his lips, and then he was kissing him back. It was slow at first, but  _ god  _ it was passionate, and it turned quickly turned deep. Keith was straddling his lap in moments, tipping Shiro’s head back as he swept his tongue over his lips, seeking permission that was gladly given. Had kissing always been this good? Shiro didn’t think so. Keith had him tingling from head to toe, his body alive with want.

Keith pulled back with a loud smack of lips. “Ask me out,” he said. 

Dizzy and breathless, Shiro had to take a moment before he could comply. “Keith, will you be my--”

“Yes. Glad we got that settled,” Keith grinned.

Shiro couldn’t help laughing. “You were awfully confident about that for someone who just said I wasn't ready.”

“I know you’re stupidly gone on me, Shirogane,” Keith said with a smirk. “I’ve seen the way you stare at my ass.”

“It’s a nice ass,” Shiro offered weakly in his defense.

“I know,” Keith said, nodding agreement. “Wanna fuck it?”

“Holy shit,” Shiro sputtered. “What happened to going slow?!”

“I’m  _ willing  _ to go slow. That doesn’t mean I  _ want  _ to,” Keith explained. “You have no idea what a slut I was before I met you or just how many dildos I’ve worn out since.”

“Holy  _ shit _ ,” Shiro breathed.

“Yup. Been celibate for months and it sucks.” He gave Shiro another sucking kiss. “I can wait longer, though. I just want to make it clear I’m offering now.”

Shiro groaned and rested his head on Keith’s shoulder. “You’re killing me right now.”

Keith hummed and ran his fingers through Shiro’s hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. “Sorry. I’ll tone it down.” He kissed Shiro’s ear and then hugged him. “I’m just so happy I can tell you I like you.” 

Shiro hugged him back. “That’s killing me, too.”

Keith laughed a little. “Sorry.” He hugged Shiro a little harder and then pulled back. “Listen. I’ve never had an actual boyfriend before, so I might suck at this. I’ve, uh, never really had feelings that  _ mattered  _ before…? So, sorry if I get...weird. Or sensitive or whatever. Just… I know you like me, a lot. A lot a lot. But… could you say it? I thought we were gonna kiss on Friday, and then I worried I’d pushed too hard, but then you kissed someone else even though it was  _ for  _ me, and, um, I guess I just need to hear you say it. Please.”

Shiro’s hands immediately found Keith’s cheeks, and he held him firmly but gently until Keith finally met his eyes. “I like you, a lot a lot.”  _ More than that, actually, but if this is your first time with feelings, I’ll try not overwhelm you just yet.  _ “I didn’t kiss you Friday night because I didn’t want to mess things up when you didn’t have another place to stay if you got uncomfortable. I don’t give a shit about that guy in the artist alley yesterday, and so long as we’re dating, I will make it my mission to  _ never  _ make you feel like that again. You deserve to feel safe and respected. It’s what you’ve always done for me.” He paused to swallow around a painful emotion threatening to spill free. “You saved me.”

“Shiro, no,” Keith said gently. “You did all the work. All of it.”

“I know, but you gave me a reason to try,” Shiro said sincerely. “I’ve been treading water for years; you made me realize I wanted to get to shore.”

Keith closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Shiro’s. “Please tell me how fast is too fast, because I am about to attack you and I need to know how hard to reign myself in.”

“Well, someone did just tell me he could have gotten in my pants from the start, so you tell me,” Shiro grinned. “We’ll have to wait a bit for supplies, but--mmffph!”

Keith crushed their lips together and rolled his hips in a way that suggested there would be no holding back of any kind. “I have supplies,” he said, biting Shiro’s lower lip before attacking his jaw. “I think Matt and Lance arranged for that ‘no bed’ accident. They gave me lube and condoms right after.”

“Oh?” Shiro said, uncertain if he was more embarrassed or exasperated. Keith’s hands distracted him before he could decide.

“This,” he said, grabbing Shiro’s shirt. “Off.”

“Uh, kind of a lot of scars under here...,” he said, voice trailing off as his mind blinked offline at the sight of Keith yanking off his own shirt. His skin was pale and beautiful, and his nipples were already pebbling. 

Keith frowned. “Did you want to keep your clothes on? I don’t mind if it makes you more comfortable.”

“You’ve seen me with the arm off,” Shiro said with a small shrug. “The nose is the most distracting part anyway. Just don’t want you to be disappointed.” He grabbed his shirt and tugged it off and was surprised to find a scowl on Keith’s face. “What?”

“Disappointed? By these?” Keith demanded, grabbing Shiro’s pecs in both hands. “Do you have any idea what you’ve been doing to me, Shirogane? I am going to suck on your tits until your skin is  _ raw _ , do you understand me?!”

“Ah, yes sir,” Shiro gasped, shocked by the strength of Keith’s shove as he found himself flat on his back, nipple immediately caught in Keith’s mouth. “Ohh, fuck, that’s good.” He threaded a hand through Keith’s hair and tugged on it, letting him stay where he was but keeping the tension taut. Keith moaned around him, nipping harder before pulling back.

“ _ Fuck _ this--I’m ditching my pants,” he announced almost angrily, yanking at his belt and wrestling with his jeans.

Shiro laughed as Keith nearly lost his balance, and he obediently began removing his own jeans once Keith glared at him.

“You stay  _ right  _ the hell there,” Keith ordered, tossing his boxers at Shiro’s face before dashing to his suitcase to find the needed supplies. He gave a triumphant cry and, seconds later, prowled back up the bed, fully naked with miles of skin Shiro was dying to touch. “Now then,” he said, settling back down, his bare ass rubbing over dangerous territory, “do you have a problem with me bottoming? Because I’ll switch, but y--”

Shiro’s fingers sank almost painfully deep into Keith’s ass and kneaded it firmly. “If you tell me I can’t get so far up this ass you feel it in your lungs, I’m going to have to start questioning your choice in pants, you mouthy little twink.”

“Oh fuck,” Keith whimpered. He licked his lips. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” He closed his eyes and shook his head slightly, composing himself. “Okay,” he said more firmly. “You’ve made your point. Now, hands here until I say otherwise.” He grabbed Shiro’s wrists and put them above his head. 

“Keeeith,” Shiro whined. He’d been dying to touch this brat since the second he saw him and now this?”

Keith just winked. “Bad boys who go kissing around have to behave.”

Well,  _ that  _ just made his dick twitch. Keith noticed and smirked.

“You’re going to be good for me from now on though, aren’t you?” Shiro swallowed hard and nodded. “That’s what I thought,” Keith said, nodding his approval and grabbing the lube. “Be a good boy and watch while I get ready.”

Keith was a goddamn sin, arch his back and showing off the long expanse of his throat as he reached behind himself, teasing himself open with a sigh. He looked at Shiro through lidded eyes, coy smile curving on his lips. 

“I’m going to come all over your abs and lick ‘em clean,” he said, voice dropping lower. “Bet I can do it just from your dick, too.  _ Jesus  _ your cock is thick. Bet it feels even better than it looks.” He angled his hips so he could rut against Shiro while fingering himself and groaned appreciatively. 

“Keeeith,” Shiro whined, trying to rut up against him in turn. He needed the use of his goddamn hands and had to content himself with the bare friction Keith was willing to give him. He was hard and aching without so much as a stroke and it was torture. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Keith grinned. “I’m gonna fuck my tight ass down your cock. You’ll feel me all nice and hot around you so soon.”

Shiro whined again and bit his lip, watching helplessly as Keith took his sweet time, luxuriating on his fingers with small, happy sighs. His sighs turned to whimpers, broken and high-pitched, and Shiro worried Keith would come without getting on him, treating himself to a second round on Shiro later.

“Baby, please,” Shiro gasped, straining his hips. “At least let me touch you.”

“Mmm, soon,” Keith promised, but he did finally let off fingering and reached for the condom. He rolled it down Shiro’s length with expert efficiency, not lingering  _ at all _ , which was absolutely cruel in Shiro’s opinion, but then oh god he was lining up. 

“Oh,” Keith said in a tiny voice as he pressed down, taking in only the head and then stopping. “Oh, you’re  _ big _ .” He rocked back and forth, letting the head catch on his rim and tug at it, groaning. “Oh  _ god  _ you’re fucking perfect.” His eyes, previously closed in bliss, cracked open, and when he saw Shiro he burst out laughing.

“What? What did I do?” Shiro asked, incredibly confused.

“Nothing! Nothing, you’re perfect,” Keith said sincerely. “I’m laughing at myself. You’re pouting and it’s  _ adorable  _ and I just realized I am going to be way too weak to you in bed. Come on--get your hands up here and put them to good use,” Keith said, reaching for Shiro’s hands and then arranging them on his chest. 

Shiro eagerly sought out his nipples and began to toy with them. 

“Yeees, pull at them like that,” Keith said, pushing into the touch. “Fuck.”

“You like it a little rough, don’t you?” Shiro asked, watching in awe at the sinuous flow of Keith’s body as he rolled his hips. “Fuck, you’re so hot.”

“Oh Shiro,” Keith sighed happily. “This isn’t rough at all.” He grinned down at him with a smirk and a glint in his eyes. “You want me to fuck you rough, baby? Want me to slam down on your cock?”

A whine came from Shiro’s throat before he could suppress it.

Keith  _ did  _ slam down, taking Shiro hard and deep and riding him like they had to beat the clock. Shiro scrambled to hold on, clutching Keith’s waist and groaning his name like it was his salvation. It was everything he wanted--that tight ass squeezing over him in a vicious grip and Keith all but shouting his name. Heat curled dangerously fast in his gut, and Shiro was abruptly reminded that while Keith had been celibate for months, Shiro had been for  _ years _ .

“Keith, Keith I’m so close,” Shiro gasped.

“Yes, fuck, come!” Keith cried. “Show me what you look like when you come--fuck  _ fuck  _ I wanna see it. Show me, baby,  _ show  _ me--”

Unable to stave his release for even a second longer, Shiro came hard, filling up the condom and feeling the excess leak down his cock. He trembled into over sensitivity as Keith continued to slam down, riding him with pained cries as he finally took himself in hand and yanked on his swollen cock. He gasped Shiro’s name when he came, shooting thick stripes high on his chest and stomach. 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Keith said, collapsing. “Oh  _ god  _ I hope your libido is even half of mine. I could be fucked like that every day.”

Keith didn’t bother to pull off or even to hold up his own weight, and Shiro didn’t mind at all. He preferred it, wanting the solid reassurance Keith’s body provided. Plus, he could feel how Keith’s limbs were still shaking, and he soothed the trembling muscles with gentle strokes. 

“You’re going to kill me,” Shiro said, laughing quietly and kissing Keith’s hair. “I’ve been a monk for years. I don’t mind changing that, though. Sounds pretty damn great, in fact.”

Keith propped himself up on his elbows. “You haven’t had sex since your accident, have you. I’m sorry; I should have been nicer.”

“I dunno--I thought that was a pretty nice reintroduction to sex, but if you wanted to convince me otherwise, we could always try a few other positions,” Shiro said with a wink. 

Keith gave him a slow, tender kiss. “I would like you to destroy me,” he said sweetly, “but maybe let’s have breakfast first?”

Shiro laughed and rolled them over, taking on the important business of kissing his boyfriend into submission before herding them into the shower, and then on to breakfast.

  
  


~*~*~

  
  


“I don’t think those two slept at all last night,” Lance said solemnly, looking at the backseat. “Check out that hickey--they were fucking. I mean, not just standard fucking, either.  _ Fucking  _ fucking.”

“I’d rather not know the difference,” Hunk said.

“I would,” Matt piped up from the driver’s seat. “Sounds great.”

“Okay, fine. I’d rather not know more about my friends’ sex lives,” Hunk amended.

“Amen,” Pidge said.

“What? I think it’s cute,” Lance said. “They’re holding hands.” He pulled out his phone snapped a picture. He looked at the result and nodded his satisfaction. “Disgustingly cute, all sexed out and sleeping. Look at how soft Keith looks. He’s baby right now. Completely baby.”

“Blackmail?” Pidge asked.

“Blackmail,” Lance agreed. 

Shiro and Keith slept on in the backseat, blissfully undisturbed, dreaming of each other and the kind future they thoroughly deserved and were thankfully destined to have. 

  
  


The end. <3

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want it to be known that Keith's internal dialogue is pretty much just "Fuck, he's so cute" the entire time, frequently accompanied with "I'm gonna wreck that dick". 
> 
> It was really weird writing a super confident Keith. He is so socially awkward in the show that I just can’t imagine him being good at flirting. XD But it’s fun to change it up, and the poor guy deserves to show off his assets from time to time. :3 He was more of a planner instead of a piner in this. XDDDD
> 
> Also, I really hope Lance doesn't come across as too much of an ass. I view him as being socially dense, not actively rude, if that makes sense? Like, he has trouble realizing the extent to which other people get uncomfortable, because he simply doesn't get uncomfortable, or at least not about the same things. 
> 
> Keith definitely suffered once Shiro started to work out again. “He’s hotter everytime I see him!” he wailed to Lance, who punched him affectionately and fingergunned a ton. Keith also said things like “He’s gay, right? He /has/ to be gay. I need him to be gay.” And then Lance punched him a bit harder and reminded him that Pidge already told them all Shiro was gay.
> 
> (Random small things bother me, like how the timeline of the con works, because usually hotels don’t let you check in before noon. We’re gonna say the power of Matt or gay or money prevailed.)
> 
> I wonder how many people have accidentally been super offensive about cosplays. I don’t mean the racist bullshit--I mean, like, I didn’t realize you *actually* didn’t have a leg when I complimented your fantastic peg leg pirate. I would absolutely die of mortification if I was that idiot.
> 
> Closest I’ve come to being That Idiot (that I know of): when I worked front desk at a doctor’s office, I told a woman how much I loved her hair. It was so thick and shiny! She thanked me awkwardly. Later, I looked in her chart and saw she had thyroid problems (hair loss). I was complimenting her wig. Oops. 
> 
> I was going to have Allura be a famous cosplayer that Lance wanted to meet, but then I was afraid he’d just come off like a creepy fanboy. 
> 
> I’M SORRY SHIRO KISSED SOMEONE. I DIDN’T KNOW HOW TO MAKE KEITH JEALOUS AND IT NEEDED TO BE OBVIOUS SHIRO WASN'T GETTING HARASSED/NEEDING KEITH TO SAVE HIM SO I WANTED IT TO BE SOMETHING SHIRO WAS “IN CHARGE” OF. (Also, yay for angst points?)
> 
> No idea what Lance, Pidge, and Hunk went as, by the way. I thought about giving them all a group costume but I didn’t want them to exclude Shiro. Headcanon whatever you want for them. ^_^
> 
> I envision this Keith as being really shy about “making love” instead of just fucking. It’s not what he’s used to, and it takes him a while to let Shiro spoil him like that. They’re both 100% on board with rougher things or with Keith being in charge in general, but Shiro helps Keith try softer things and makes him feel precious, and he learns to really like it. He’s just never experienced it before because he’s only done either quick, messy fucks at parties or booties call from people that have him marked in their phone as “wild twink” or something like that. 
> 
> I hope it didn’t seem like Shiro saw a cute boy and got his act together through the Power of Love, or something. I don’t want to downplay the importance of Matt! It’s like… Matt kept him from drowning, and Keith helped him swim to shore…? 
> 
> Oh, and I didn’t come up with the idea of an arm that needs to charge, but I don’t remember what fic I read it in, or even if it was a Sheith fic or a Stucky one. Thank you, mystery author.
> 
> Anyway! Love you guys!!! You continue to be the best fans ever and you make Sheith even greater than it already is!!! <3333

**Author's Note:**

> Wanna read more nonsense by yours truly? Follow me on Twitter @decidedlysarah


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